












POLLY 

The Autobiography of a Parrot 




















































































































































































































































































































































Illustrated. Animal 


Autobiographical Series 


POLLY 

Cohe Autobiography 
of a 

PARROT 


Mollie Lee Clifford 

Author of "Yoppy” 


H M Caldwell Co. 
BOSTON -NEW YORK 


Ob- 33755 


LIBRARY Of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

NOV 2 I90« 


,/ 0 . 

B. 


* Copyright 

TW.V, 
CLASS A 

/<?! 

COPY 


Entry 

/ f /l 

XXcf, No, 


c< r 

xb ^ 

o 


Copyright , 7906 
By H. M. Caldwell Co. 


Published simultaneously in the United States , Great 
Britain , Canada , and British Possessions 


*r 



COLONIAL PRESS 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds &* Co. 
Boston , U. S. A. 




TO MY DEAR FRIEND 

Beatrice STenfetncJ 

THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 


BY THE AUTHOR 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

My Home in a Greenwood 

-TREE 


PAGE 

11 

II. 

When I Left Home 

• • 

• 

30 

III. 

Life on Board Ship 

• • 

• 

42 

IV. 

A Memorable Night 

• • 

• 

51 

y. 

I Lose My Master 

• • 

• 

60 

VI. 

My New Home 

• • 

• 

67 

VII. 

The Coming of Yoppy . 

• • 

• 

73 

VIII. 

Exercise 

• • 

• 

86 

IX. 

Praise and Notoriety . 

• • 

• 

100 

X. 

A Reminder of the Past 



107 

XI. 

After My Downfall 



113 

XII. 

Another Tour of Exploration . 


119 

XIII. 

Yoppy and I Meet Again 

• • 


138 

XIV. 

The Pets’ Corner . 

• • 


146 

XV. 

Pies, Pudding, and Flour 

• • 


156 

XVI. 

Results .... 

• • 


175 

XVII. 

On the Veranda . 

• • 


189 

XVIII. 

Away to Harrison Hill 

• • 


197 

XIX. 

Freedom .... 

• • 


211 

XX. 

In Captivity . 

• • 


223 

XXI. 

Sunday Morning Services 

• • 


238 

XXII. 

An Entertainment 

• • 


245 

XXIII. 

A Promise 

• • 


257 






LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Polly 

I Lose My Balance and My Temper 
Pretty, Pretty Sweetheart ! 

“ Bad Luck to Ye I ” She Yelled 
I Had Only Four Helpings of the Pies 
Captured 


PAGE 

Frontispiece ^ 
. 35 y 

. 75 s 

. 136 
. 187 
. 231 


POLLY 


CHAPTER I. 

MY HOME IN A GREENWOOD - TREE 

In the heart of a great forest in South 
America, hidden away in a hole in the 
trunk of a great tree, was one of the soft- 
est nests ever made by two devoted par- 
rots. There I first saw the light of day, 
or as much of it as could penetrate the 
density of the leafy branches of the tree 
in which our nest was made. 

My father and mother were as devoted 

11 


POLLY 


to each other as parrots can be, which is 
saying a great deal, for a pair of parrots 
once mated remain together for life. When 
a parrot loses its mate, the one that is left 
usually dies of grief. 

They are especially fond of their young, 
and, unlike some birds, when one brood is 
quite grown up and another makes its ap- 
pearance in the nest, the parents never try 
to peck or claw their older children, but 
all live together in peace and harmony, 
perching on the branches of the same tree. 
So, as you may readily imagine, I was a 
very happy bird. I had one sister and two 
brothers, of whom I was exceedingly fond. 

The greater part of our time we spent in 
chatting, either among ourselves or with 
our neighbours. We would awake with 

12 


POLLY 


the rising of the sun, and go in search of 
breakfast while it was still cool. It was 
much better for us to do this than to stay 
in our nests snoozing until the sun was so 
high that the heat would almost seem to 
scorch our feathers. 

Our breakfast and supper call was al- 
ways one prolonged and shrill squawk, 
given by one or another of the six or seven 
hundred parrots that made their home in 
the forest. At the sound we all flew up 
over the tree-tops, each one giving a screech 
similar to that of the leader. We went in 
quest of food but twice a day. In the 
evening when the sun went down, and in 
answer again to the cry of our leader, we 
would fly together in search of our supper. 
Our food consisted of seeds, berries, and 
13 


POLLY 


such fruit as we were always able to pro- 
cure in our forest home. 

Sometimes sad accidents would happen 
while we were searching for food. Indeed, 
it was a common occurrence for several of 
our flock to be stricken by men, natives of 
the country, who made a business of sell- 
ing us to sailors or tourists who came their 
way. 

When the hunters went out shooting par- 
rots, they never tried to kill us outright, but 
used arrows with blunt points and covered 
with a cotton pad. Their object was only 
to stun, so they might carry us away be- 
fore we regained consciousness. The na- 
tives knew well the fierce fighting capacity 
of a captured parrot. 

Very often the men climbed the trees in 

14 


POLLY 


search of the nests, in order that they might 
procure the very young birds. Whenever 
they resorted to this method, they carried 
a club with them, with which to protect 
themselves from the beaks and claws of the 
parent birds, who in every case would fight 
without fear and often sacrifice their own 
lives in a vain endeavour to protect their 
nestlings. 

There is another way in which a large 
number of our family were captured. 
Quantities of certain kinds of weeds and 
brush were gathered by the natives and 
burnt under the trees. When the smoke 
arose to the tree-tops a great many parrots 
would be overcome by the fumes and fall 
to the ground unconscious, where they were 
gathered together and placed in sacks and 
15 


POLLY 


carried to the homes of the natives. There, 
after their return to consciousness, they 
were forced into submission, and later sold 
as pets. 

Besides very many handsome birds, we 
had also for neighbours a great many ring- 
tailed monkeys. I do not know their scien- 
tific name, but never mind, ring-tail will 
answer the purpose. In fact, I think al- 
most any name is good enough for a 
monkey, — at least, I used to think so, 
before I became friends with a certain 
little fellow, of whom I shall tell you later 
on. 

Some one has stated that monkeys are 
a great deal like parrots in their habits and 
characteristics. I am inclined to believe 
that, in their affection for their mates and 

16 


POLLY 


young, and for their master, if they have 
one, monkeys are very much like our fam- 
ily. But aside from those traits, I am sure 
that we are no more alike than chalk is 
like cheese. As to our being related in 
any way, the idea is perfectly absurd. 
Granted that parrots, like monkeys, live in 
trees and never touch the ground unless 
they are obliged to, that is no reason why 
any learned doctor or any one else should 
think that we are in any way connected. 

If you could see me now, as I sit on the 
shoulder of my mistress, who is writing my 
story as I tell it to her, I am very sure that 
you would say: “ Surely that handsome 
creature, with its beautiful green coat and 
bright-coloured lining, can have no connec- 
tion whatever with that grinning little 
17 


POLLY 


monkey in the kitchen.” I am fast losing 
my temper, and I think it is far better to 
get back to my story. 

Well, as I said, we had many monkeys 
near us in the trees, and, although we usu- 
ally got along together fairly well, there 
was one time when matters between the 
monkeys and parrots assumed a grave as- 
pect. 

I was nearly a year old, and had begun 
to think of settling in a nest of my own. 
I had chosen my mate, or perhaps it would 
sound better to say that he had chosen me, 
and we were getting ready to start house- 
keeping. I had been working hard the 
greater part of the day building our nest, 
and was perching on a bough taking a well- 
earned rest. My brothers, sister, and my 

18 


POLLY 


father were near by, when who should come 
scampering up to our quarters but a little 
imp of a ring-tail who lived in the lower 
branches of our tree. 

It was seldom that the monkeys paid any 
attention to us or troubled us in any way. 
I am sure that long, long ago they recog- 
nized our superiority, and hence their strict 
attention to their own affairs. But on this 
day, when the young monkey started out, 
he was evidently looking for trouble, as he 
made straight for a hole in the tree where 
my mother was hatching a new brood of 
baby parrots. When my father, who was 
sitting on guard, saw the monkey and real- 
ized the scamp’s intentions, he gave a cry 
to warn my mother. 

When the monkey heard the cry, he pre- 

19 


POLLY 


tended that he had no intention of bother- 
ing her, and went capering around the tree, 
giving vent to a lot of monkey talk and 
making funny little grimaces. Once he 
came so near to me that I stretched out my 
neck ready for a peck, and would have 
given him a good bite, but just then he 
found urgent business on another branch. 
But he did not scamper off until he had 
given my tail-feathers such a twitch that 
I nearly fell from my perch. It was very 
fortunate for him that he made himself 
scarce when he did, otherwise he would 
have learned something about the beak of 
a parrot that he never knew before. As it 
was, I gave him a big scare flapping my 
wings in his face. One would naturally 
think from this experience that he would 

20 


POLLY 


have learned a lesson, but in a short time 
he was back again more full of his monkey- 
shines than ever before. 

As my mother had already been fore- 
warned, she was also forearmed, so when the 
little imp stuck his nose into her nest, he 
got a good bite to pay him for his interfer- 
ence. He screamed with pain and scram- 
bled down the trunk of the tree, while we 
squawked and shrieked after him until he 
was nearly frightened out of his wits. 

Straight to his mother went the little 
cry-baby, and she petted and cuddled him 
as if he were in no way to blame for the 
trouble he had brought upon himself. 
What his mother said to him, I never knew, 
but it was plain to see that she upheld him 
in his naughtiness, for back he came again 

21 


POLLY 


doing everything that he could to provoke 
us. 

It was beneath us to pay much attention 
to the little idiot, unless he showed too 
strong an intention of meddling. Several 
times he made an attempt to creep up be- 
hind me, but I always saw him coming, 
and, just before he was near enough to 
pull my tail-feathers, I would turn around 
with head stretched out and ready to make 
good use of my beak. Finding he was baf- 
fled, he would wrinkle up his homely little 
nose, stick his fingers in his mouth, and cry 
as though he thought I should allow him to 
yank me from my perch just for his own 
amusement. Finally, after several vain at- 
tempts, he evidently gave up the idea of 
trying to bother me. 


22 


POLLY 


The day was unusually warm, and I 
became drowsy and should have taken a nap 
but for the presence of that mischievous 
imp. I did not quite dare to poke my head 
under my wing, so I sat there winking and 
blinking, always with my weather eye on 
the young nuisance. There was no trust- 
ing him, in spite of the fact that at the 
moment he appeared the picture of inno- 
cence, as he busied himself catching spiders 
and bugs, and watching a huge ant climb- 
ing along the limb of the tree. 

He had not forgotten us, it seemed, for 
while he pretended to watch the ant, he 
suddenly started up and made another dive 
for the nest, where my mother was sitting 
so patiently hatching her eggs. The little 
goose ought to have known from past ex- 
23 


POLLY 


periences that this was dangerous business, 
but monkeys never did know anything. So 
into the hole of the tree went the idiot’s 
head, then in a flash he thrust his arm in 
just as my father arrived on the scene. 

In his rage, my father pounced on the 
monkey’s back, while from within the nest 
my mother buried her beak deep into the 
intruding arm. Then we all pounced upon 
him and gave the little meddler such a 
thrashing as he had never received before, 
and sent him back whimpering to his 
mother. 

His cries brought a score of other 
monkeys to him, all chattering and baring 
their teeth, plainly showing their deep in- 
dignation over our conduct. It was very 
amusing for us to look down and see them 

24 


POLLY 


gathering around the little fellow, chatter- 
ing as only a lot of monkeys can, each one 
evidently giving his opinion and occasion- 
ally glaring at us, giving us to under- 
stand by their actions what they thought 
of us. 

Every few moments one of the monkeys 
would poke the sore places on the little fel- 
low’s body, evidently offering at the same 
time some advice. After a great deal of 
chattering, one of the older monkeys went 
away, returning shortly with a handful of 
leaves, which he thrust into his mouth and 
chewed a few minutes. He then applied 
them as a poultice to the little monkey’s 
wounds. This seemed to quiet him, and 
finally he went to sleep cuddled in his 
mother’s arms. I think he had all the ex- 

25 


POLLY 


perience with parrots that time that he 
cared for. 

When the excitement was over, the 
monkeys held a council of war. It was 
plain that henceforth we were to be re- 
garded as their sworn enemies. It mat- 
tered not to those ignorant creatures 
whether we had just cause or not for pun- 
ishing the young intruder. Their one object 
seemed to be to teach us a lesson, and we 
who have a much superior intellect real- 
ized what their various signs and gri- 
maces meant, and prepared to pounce on 
them in a body at the first declaration of 
war. 

It came in due time, just as we knew it 
would. The gestures grew more threaten- 
ing, the voices more piercing, while the 

26 


POLLY 


general attitude of the creatures was that of 
greatest excitement. We had been watch- 
ing them and were well prepared when the 
war-cry was given by the biggest monkey 
in the crowd. Uttering a shrill scream, he 
led the entire band up the tree. On they 
came, chattering, screeching, and showing 
their teeth, as if they were bent on tearing 
the whole parrot tribe to pieces. 

Up, up they swarmed to the boughs, 
where we awaited them. There is nothing 
like giving company a warm reception, and, 
when the enraged monkeys came within a 
few yards of our branch, one of us gave 
a squawk, the signal to charge, and we 
were upon them. 

Oh, me! oh, my! What a screaming and 


27 


POLLY 


gnashing of teeth there was, as we flapped 
our wings in their faces, scratching, claw- 
ing, and tearing their flesh with our beaks. 
They were indeed glad to escape with their 
lives. It was a fierce battle, as you may 
readily imagine, — one of the fiercest that 
our part of the jungle had ever known. 
The monkeys were soon vanquished, while 
high in the tree-tops our company squawked 
and crowed, as only victors can. 

For the rest of the day the monkeys 
gathered together in small groups, chatter- 
ing, and occasionally rubbing their battered 
sides, while, I presume, they discussed ways 
and means for getting us unawares. But 
that was all the good it did. They had 
been beaten fair and square, and if they 


28 


POLLY 


charged on us again, they would meet with 
a similar defeat. We parrots in our 
struggle for supremacy had won the vic- 
tory . 1 

J Two sailors claim to have witnessed such a battle be- 
tween a lot of monkeys and a flock of parrots. — Editor. 


29 


POLLY 


CHAPTER II. 

WHEN I LEFT HOME 

For several days after the onslaught of 
the ring-tails there was a great deal of vis- 
iting among the vanquished. Every now 
and then a group of monkeys would get 
their noses together. It was plainly seen 
that indignation meetings were frequently 
held, and it was quite obvious that they 
were not at all pleased with the results of 
their battle with us. 

I have no doubt that they conceived it 
beneath their dignity, if monkeys have any 
dignity, to allow a flock of parrots to give 

30 


POLLY 


them so complete a whipping. I thor- 
oughly believe that they intended to try 
another fight, but I never learned just how 
the trouble was ended. 

One morning on my way to breakfast 
I was struck by one of the blunted arrows, 
fired by a native, and I did not regain 
consciousness until I was being carried 
away for ever from my home in the forest. 
So I never occupied that pretty, snug little 
nest, which my dear mate and I had built 
together. 

It was a long time before I submitted 
to my imprisonment, and I am sure that 
my captor will carry remembrances of me 
to his grave. On one occasion, while he 
was trying to tame me, I made him realize 
fully that, although I was completely in his 
31 


POLLY 


power, I still had a protector in the shape 
of a wonderfully strong beak. 

The only way in which my captor could 
make me obey was by smoking some kind 
of infernal weed and blowing the smoke 
into my face. This I could not endure, so, 
rather than have those vile fumes blown 
into my eyes, I concluded to stop biting 
and clawing, and calmly submit to my 
fate. 

When I was fully “ broken,” the native 
carried me with several other parrots to 
the city, where we were sold. The sailor 
who bought me was truly a “ jolly Jack 
tar,” and he and I became friends at once. 
He began to make love to me by calling 
me his “ Polly sweetheart,” and this was 
so much more agreeable than the stern voice 

32 


POLLY 


of my captor that I would have been con- 
tented but for the memory of my lost 
home. 

My master, or, as I had learned to call 
him, my Sailor Sweetheart, travelled a long 
distance with me across the country, and 
then one day he took me down to a wharf, 
near which a great many ships lay at an- 
chor. For some time my Jack stood 
around, chatting with other sailors, and at 
intervals talking with me. Finally he took 
me with him in a small boat, and we were 
rowed to one of the big ships some dis- 
tance from the shore. On board the Will- 
iam W . Crapo there were so many new 
and strange sights that it took me a num- 
ber of days to get acquainted with the new 
life. In spite of longings for my old home 
33 


POLLY 


in the jungle, I must confess that I was 
more than interested in the objects and 
people about me. 

There was indeed a great difference be- 
tween life on board ship and my old home 
in the tree-top. To begin with, when we 
were well out to sea, I found that there 
were things in the world that rocked and 
rolled worse than the tree-tops ever did in 
a gale of wind. Sometimes the swell of 
the sea was moderate, and I could eat my 
meals in peace, but when the wind blew, 
and the ship pitched and tossed, it was more 
than the food was worth to make an at- 
tempt at eating. How surprised I was the 
first time that I tried to take a drink when 
there was “ a heavy sea on,” as the sailors 
used to say! In my most calm and dig- 

34 







POLLY 


nified manner I thrust my beak into my 
drinking-cup, when suddenly the ship gave 
a lurch, knocking me off my perch, and the 
water splashed into my eyes and spattered 
all over me. I didn’t like it a bit, and the 
more I scolded the louder the sailors shouted 
with laughter. 

My Sailor Sweetheart had taken my 
cage to the forecastle, where the sailors live. 
This room was at the forward end of the 
ship under the deck. Around the sides were 
two rows of bunks, a lamp hung in the 
centre of the ceiling, and at one end of 
the forecastle were the sailors’ chests and 
canvas bags, in which they kept their cloth- 
ing, and back of them were rows of hooks 
and pegs, on which they hung their storm 


35 


POLLY 


clothing, or “ oil clothes,” as they called 
them. 

The forecastle was not an interesting 
place at the best, especially after living for 
a whole year in the beautiful green woods, 
and it will readily be believed that for a 
long time I had spells of homesickness. 
After a number of weeks, however, this 
feeling wore away a great deal, and I 
began to take more interest in the sailors, 
whose names I learned, and it was from 
them that I learned the several languages 
which I am proud to say I can speak. 

From Jose Sartorous I learned Spanish, 
not so very much, perhaps, but sufficient 
to carry on a conversation with him. I 
also learned a Spanish song, the singing 
of which both astonished and pleased not 

36 


POLLY 


only Jose but the entire crew. Then from 
Pierre Belfontaine I learned to speak 
French, and, according to Mistress’s ideas, 
many of my English expressions would be 
far better if spoken in that language. 
Mickey Dolan, a light-hearted young Irish- 
man, taught me some English, and of what 
I am very proud, two songs in the genuine 
Irish tongue. And the way I rattled off 
those songs and sayings brought delight to 
the Irishman’s soul. There were many ex- 
pressions in English which I learned that 
Mistress declares are not suitable for utter- 
ance or publication. But I will say right 
here that whenever I used them in the 
forecastle, they were always highly appre- 
ciated. 

I am really an unusually bright bird, in 

37 


POLLY 


intellect as well as in colouring. Naturally 
I learn quickly, although Mistress says that 
I am like a child, always catching the 
wrong word, retaining it, and bringing it 
out at the wrong time. Whether this is 
true or not, I shall be obliged to leave to 
the reader’s own judgment. 

In the course of time I grew to love the 
roll of the ship and the smell of the tar, 
and everything connected with the fore- 
castle. I was not always there, however, 
for on warm, sunny days my cage was 
brought on deck, where I might see and 
hear all that was going on. Oh, yes, indeed, 
by this time I had become as good a sailor 
as any of them. To be sure, I never was 
called upon to assist in weighing the anchor, 
nor was I expected to help load the cargo, 

38 


POLLY 


and, for some unaccountable reason, I was 
never sent aloft to furl or unfurl the sails, 
but I suppose that I was, like our captain, 
a privileged character, and therefore ex- 
cused. 

It was while on deck that I made his 
acquaintance, dear kind-hearted Captain 
Hardy! And I am sure that no other 
ship’s crew had a better leader. He had 
such a fine face, with his full beard slightly 
streaked with gray, and kind, soft eyes, 
that no one could help loving him and his 
deep, beautiful voice. 

The captain’s wife was also very pleas- 
ant, and, although she never was capable 
of fully appreciating me, I grew very fond 
of her. Often I condescended to take pea- 
nuts from her hand, after which I always 
39 


POLLY 


thanked her in my prettiest manner. Nev- 
ertheless, she always declared that I talked 
too much. But I dearly loved to have her 
come to my cage and pay some attention 
to me. 

Then there was Little Boy Hardy, the 
Captain’s son, with whom I became the 
best of friends, and we spent many a pleas- 
ant hour together, while I talked to him 
and he scratched my head. During our 
voyages, whether at anchor or at sea, he 
proved a never-ending source of delight to 
me. I do not know why it is that we who 
are known as the “ lower animals ” are so 
fond of human children, but we always 
have been and probably always will be. It 
is to them that we look for much of our 
happiness, and nearly always from them 

40 


POLLY 


that we get it. The children we love are 
those who are always kind, who never tease 
us, and who try to study our wants. In 
return we give our hearts’ best love. 


41 


POLLY 


CHAPTER III. 

LIFE ON BOARD SHIP 

After cruising for several years, I be- 
came a typical old salt, as familiar with 
nautical phrases as any sailor. With aston- 
ishing glibness I could call “ All hands on 
deck!” and in such perfect mimicry of the 
Captain’s voice that even old Tom was 
surprised, and would often pause in his 
work to say: “Well, well, who ever heard 
a bird like that? ” 

Nor was this the extent of my education. 
I could give the orders to “ Haul in the 
jib and take a reef in th’ mains’l,” “ Ship 

42 


POLLY 


ahoy! Ship ahoy! Whar ye’r bound for? 
Whar ye’r bound for? ” “ Strike eight 

bells and call th’ watch,” “ Keep a bright 
lookout forh’d,” “How’s she headed?” 
“Heave her to, heave to, heave her to!” 
“ Head her before th’ wind, head her be- 
fore th’ wind.” All these sayings were 
rattled off in true parrot fashion, and fre- 
quently for a change I would sing, some- 
times the songs of the forecastle and some- 
times those of My Jack’s own make-up. 

All the sailors had taken great pleasure 
in teaching me different songs, and there 
were many that I learned, but my two 
favourites were, perhaps, “ Captain Kidd,” 
which I would sing in perfect imitation of 
the croakings of old Tom, and “ Blow Ye 
Winds in the Morning.” Jack, my Sailor 
43 


POLLY 


Sweetheart, taught me many jingles which 
he himself made up, and one of these that 
the Captain liked to hear me sing best was: 

“ Dash my toplights, shiver my timbers, 

If I don’t make that windlass jingle. 

Head her straight ahead.” 

Then one day while I was entertaining 
the Captain, I remembered something Jack 
had said to me on one of our watches, and, 
thinking that it would please the Captain, 
I shouted at the top of my voice : 

“ Dash my toplights and shiver my timbers, 

If Captain Hardy ain’t gone on a bender ! 

Head her straight ahead.” 

This did amuse the Captain very much 
indeed, but Jack, who was standing near, 
did not really seem to enjoy it. When 

44 


POLLY 


we were alone he said: “ Say, look a here, 
Polly, ol* girl, you needn’t tell everything 
I say to you. Didn’t you know that was 
an insult to the Captain? Well, it is. That 
man never went on a bender in his life, 
and you don’t want to talk too much.” 
For a number of days Jack kept me in 
the forecastle, but when I went on deck 
again, the Captain and I were just as good 
friends as ever. 

There was such a difference between My 
Jack and the other sailors that I could not 
help noticing it. Just what it was I could 
not make out, but the fact was evident. 
Perhaps it was because he had been trained 
by a gentle mother, or he might have had 
a sister. I am sure I don’t know. At any 
rate he wore a locket hung around his neck, 
45 


POLLY 


and every night before going to sleep in 
his bunk he always opened the locket, and, 
after looking at the pretty face that was 
inside, he used to kiss it before putting the 
locket away. Once he called the face “ old 
sweetheart,” but I never fully understood 
what he meant. 

In my visits to the Captain’s cabin I had 
observed that there was considerable dif- 
ference in the manner of speech there from 
that of the forecastle. It seemed that the 
manner of expression of the Captain’s fam- 
ily was far behind that indulged in in the 
forecastle, both in force and elegance. But 
as the Captain’s family lived by themselves, 
it could not be expected that they could 
have the advantages of a forecastle educa- 
tion. 


46 


POLLY 


Does it seem strange, then, that after 
a few hours in such a tame atmosphere as 
the cabin, even with the company of Little 
Boy Hardy, that I should become home- 
sick and cry out: “ Polly wants forecastle! 
Polly wants forecastle!” Thereupon I 
was always taken back, where again I de- 
lighted in my own chatter and the richness 
and force of language of my sailor com- 
panions, and where at intervals I joined in 
their conversation with such a zest that My 
Jack told me I was not only a credit to 
my teacher, but the pride of the forecastle. 

One day, while old Tom was working 
near my cage, he taught me what I should 
say if any one asked me: “Polly want a 
cracker? ” This he repeated several times, 
and soon I learned it, only to forget for 
47 


POLLY 


the time being, but I recalled it long, long 
after under peculiar circumstances. I 
never could understand why every one 
shouts: “Polly want a cracker? ” and I 
am sure from what old Tom told me that 
he shared my sentiments. 

There was another young man on board 
our ship who was almost as nice as My 
Jack. He was a young “ skipper ” who 
for some reason had made several voyages 
with us. He seemed to belong more to the 
cabin than to the forecastle, but he was a 
sailor, every inch of him. He was devoted 
to the Captain, and was exceedingly fond 
of Little Boy Hardy, and always begged 
permission of the Captain to take the boy 
on shore when we were in port. After such 
excursions to the city, Little Boy Hardy 

48 


POLLY 


always came back to the ship with his 
pockets full of goodies, which he often 
shared with me. 

One day, while we were lying off the 
western coast of South America near the 
port of Pisaqua, the young skipper planned 
to take the dinghy and go ashore with three 
members of the crew and Little Boy 
Hardy. They intended to make some pur- 
chases and spend the remainder of the day 
in sightseeing. 

It happened that the Captain had busi- 
ness in port that same day, and therefore 
he wished his son to remain on board dur- 
ing his absence. “ You must stay and take 
care of your mother,” the Captain said, 
and Little Boy knew he was expected to 
do his father’s bidding. There were tears 
49 


POLLY 


of disappointment in the little fellow’s eyes, 
as he stood looking over the railing, while 
the two boats left the ship’s side and pulled 
away in the direction of the city. 

The Captain returned by moonlight, but 
the other boat was never seen again, al- 
though a searching-party went far out to 
sea and hunted everywhere for the four 
lost men. Not a trace of the boat or her 
crew was ever found. 


50 


POLLY 


CHAPTER IV. 

A MEMORABLE NIGHT 

Twelve months had passed since the 
disappearance of the young skipper, and 
once again we were at anchor off the coast 
of South America. We had made a num- 
ber of trips to different ports, carrying 
cargoes from one place to another. It was 
always warm in South America, and it 
seemed to me that nowhere else was the 
sky so blue or the sunsets so beautiful. 

I stayed on deck most of the time, but 
frequently Little Boy Hardy took me to 
the cabin, where I always enjoyed myself, 
51 


POLLY 


and was banished only when I used the lan- 
guage of the forecastle. 

I was not long in learning that if I 
wished to make long visits in the cabin, 
I must not use certain phrases and expres- 
sions, and that a sailor’s vocabulary must 
decidedly be used only in the forecastle. 
As I learned this lesson, I went more and 
more to the cabin, where, with Little Boy, 
the Captain, and Mrs. Hardy, I always 
had a thoroughly good time. 

We were anchored off the port of 
Iquique, where we had taken on board 
our cargo and three new sailors, Europeans 
known as “ beach-combers.” We were 
short of men, and Captain had to pick 
up what ones he could. In order to induce 
them to ship on the boat the Captain had 

52 


POLLY 


been obliged to give them three months’ 
wages in advance, and in consequence he 
had to keep a good watch on them, that 
they did not desert. We planned to sail 
for Delaware Breakwater in North Amer- 
ica on the next day. 

It was a perfect evening. Jack and I 
were on deck all by ourselves, and Jack 
was in what the sailors called “ one of his 
spells.” 

I never knew why Jack had those moody 
times. It might have been the beauty of 
the starlit night, with the moon shining 
out in a long trail over the water, or it 
might have been that the scent of land 
wafted to us over the water made him think 
of his home far away, or perhaps it was the 
many lights on and off shore that made 
53 


POLLY 


the coast-line appear like an enchanted gar- 
den. Jack had watched the sun set in all 
its glory, and had seen the evening shades 
settle over the land and sea, had watched 
the lights as they appeared one by one here 
and there, and had listened to the soft 
splash, splash of the water against the 
ship’s sides. He had been talking to me in 
low spoken words, and I had been croaking 
little nothings in his ear, as with me on his 
shoulder he walked back and forth on the 
deck. I suppose we had walked a long 
time, but the hours always seemed short 
when Jack and I were on watch. At such 
times I was completely happy. 

At last Jack stood by the ship’s rail look- 
ing over water, and sang in a low voice a 
song about his home far away. Then he 

54 


POLLY 


talked to himself as he still looked over the 
water: “ It’s a long, long way off, dear 
heart,” he said, “ but some day I’ll be with 
you.” 

I did not understand what he meant, but 
I knew that he felt sad, and I stuck my 
head under his chin and said in as soft a 
voice as I could: “Polly loves Sweetheart, 
Polly loves Sweetheart. Pretty, pretty 
Sweetheart. Good boy, Jack.” 

This seemed to arouse him. The expres- 
sion on his face changed, and he was my 
own jolly Jack Tar once more, saying to 
me as we started on a brisk walk, “So you 
do, Polly. So you do.” He began to 
sing again, but this time it was a jolly, 
rollicking love-song, — one of his own, and 
it was all about me. 

55 


POLLY 


We were walking near my cage when 
suddenly his song ceased, and without a 
word he thrust me into my cage and then 
hurried away. Curious to know the mean- 
ing of this sudden change of manner, I 
turned and saw what My Jack had already 
seen, smoke coming from the hatchway. 
A moment later Jack appeared again, and 
I heard the Captain’s voice: “All hands 
on deck!” Then from somewhere down 
below came the cry of “ Fire, fire, fire ! ” 

I shall never forget that cry or the clang- 
ing of the gong which followed, nor shall 
I ever forget the confusion there was in low- 
ering the boats and the scurrying around 
of the crew. In their midst stood our dear 
Captain, his face pale and grave almost 
to sternness, giving orders which the sailors 

56 


POLLY 


obeyed with more promptness than I had 
ever before seen. 

At the first alarm Mrs. Hardy snatched 
a few belongings and came hurrying for- 
ward on deck, while clinging to her skirts 
was Little Boy, only half-awake and partly 
dressed. 

One by one the boats were lowered and 
filled, as I looked on and wondered what 
it all meant. At the last moment Jack 
seized my cage and hurried toward the 
railing. 

“ You go first, Captain,” Jack said, but 
the Captain gave him a gentle push, an- 
swering at the same time: 

“ No, my boy. I shall be the last to 
leave the ship. Hurry! There is no time 
to lose.” 

57 


POLLY 


In silence Jack took his place in the last 
boat, while close behind us came the Cap- 
tain. 

“ We have had a close call, boys,” the 
Captain gravely said, as the boat pulled 
away from the ship. “ Our cargo was a 
dangerous one.” 

Suddenly across the water there came a 
glare of light, and we could see the other 
boats not far away. I looked back at the 
ship. The fire had burned through the 
hatchways and was rapidly spreading along 
the deck. Soon the rigging was on fire, 
the flames cracking and snapping as they 
devoured everything in reach, and then 
came a deafening roar. I declare my 
feathers stand on end to-day when I think 
of it. Again the Captain repeated: “We 

58 


POLLY 


had a close call, boys. The fire has reached 
the hold.” 

No one answered, but the sailors stopped 
rowing and looked back for one last view 
of our dear old ship. Tears were in all the 
men’s eyes, as suddenly the ship dipped 
forward and sank into the waves. The 
Captain took Jack’s hand. Not a word was 
said. But, oh, how much that warm hand- 
clasp between master and man meant! 


59 


POLLY 


CHAPTER V. 

I LOSE MY MASTER 

It was a strange circumstance that on 
the same night that our ship burned, the 
captain of another North American ship 
in the harbour died. Captain Hardy was 
asked to take command, and with him went 
his wife and Little Boy, My Jack, Old 
Tom, and Mickey Dolan. A few days 
later I learned that it was the belief of 
every one that the new sailors engaged at 
the port had been responsible for the fire. 
After receiving their three months’ wages, 
they had tried to desert, and, being caught, 

60 


POLLY 


had set fire to the ship. I heard Captain 
Hardy say that had such an affair hap- 
pened in the United States, the rascals 
would have been severely punished, but 
in South America laws were slack, and so 
the “beach-combers” went free; perhaps 
to try the same trick on some other ship. 

There was not much difference between 
the new ship and the William W. Crapo , 
but there were many new faces among the 
crew, — a jolly crowd with whom I was 
soon on the best of terms, and my songs 
were always loudly applauded by them. 

There was a passenger, Sydney Arthur, 
on board this ship who had been taking 
a long voyage for his health. I learned 
that he made frequent trips to and from 
South America, and that he was very fond 

61 


POLLY 


of pets. He used to come and see me every 
day, and we became great friends. 

We had been on our homeward cruise for 
more than two weeks, when one day I 
noticed that there was something the mat- 
ter with My Jack. We were on watch 
together, and I saw him put his hand to 
his head a number of times, saying to me: 
“ Polly, o r girl, I’m sick.” I snuggled 
up close to his neck and tried to com- 
fort him. “ Polly loves Jacky Sweetheart. 
Polly loves Jacky Sweetheart. Pretty, 
pretty Sweetheart.” He stroked my feath- 
ers, and answered: “I know you do, dar- 
ling, I know you do, hut it doesn’t help 
my head all the same.” 

Several times after this I heard the sail- 
ors say: “Jack’s looking kind of streaky,” 

62 


POLLY 


or “I guess Jack’s a little under the 
weather.” 

For a week he kept about his duties, but 
one morning when I called to him: “ Time 
to turn out, Jacky boy!” he did not an- 
swer me as usual, but said something about 
his going home to his mother and old 
sweetheart. 

I did not know* what to make of this. 
It was not at all like my dear Jack. The 
sailors looked at each other, and shook their 
heads sadly. They all loved him, for he 
was the very life of the forecastle. 

Jack’s condition was reported to the 
Captain, who came at once with Mrs. 
Hardy. He took Jack’s hand, and held it 
for a few moments, at the same time look- 
ing at his watch. After that he placed an 
63 


POLLY 


instrument under Jack’s arm, looked at his 
wife, and gravely shook his head. “ Poor 
boy, we must take good care of him,” said 
Mrs. Hardy. 

“ Indeed, we will, my dear,” answered 
the Captain. “ I haven’t forgotten that it 
was Jack who discovered the fire on board 
the Crapo , and we will do all we can 
for him.” But again he shook his head 
sadly. 

Although everybody did what they could 
for My Jack, he seemed to get no better. 
Occasionally he would call my name, and I 
always answered him in my quietest man- 
ner. Instinctively I knew this was no time 
for squawking, so I was very quiet. A 
solemn hush had fallen over the forecastle. 
The sailors joked and laughed no more, 

64 


POLLY 


but spoke in low tones, and went about on 
tiptoe. 

Old Tom and Mickey Dolan were his 
nurses, Old Tom by day, and Mickey by 
night, and I am sure there were never two 
more faithful than they. Mrs. Hardy her- 
self gave Jack his medicine, and every one 
did what they could. 

All one day he talked of going home, 
of a dear little cottage, and of meeting 
his mother and sweetheart again. He tried 
to sing “ Home, Sweet Home,” but it was 
not the voice of my dear Jack, and the sail- 
ors wiped away many a tear from their 
eyes. Old Tom sobbed aloud as he tried 
again to sing, then, with a ring of glad- 
ness in his voice, My Jack exclaimed: “I 
am going home, boys! I am going home, 
65 


POLLY 


Polly! I am going to my sweetheart and 
my mother! ” 

In the morning I watched old Tom and 
Mickey dress My Jack in his neat clothing. 
I saw them take him on deck. It seemed 
to me that I should never talk again. 


66 


POLLY 


CHAPTER VI. 

MY NEW HOME 

For many weeks after the death of My 
Jack I took no interest in anybody or any- 
thing. There was a constant pain in my 
heart, and whenever the sailors attempted 
to arouse me from my melancholy, I only 
said: “Polly wants Sweetheart. Polly 
wants Jack. Pretty, pretty Sweetheart.” 
In vain did Old Tom and Mickey try to 
get me interested. Sometimes they would 
sing some of the old forecastle favourites, 
but I never offered to join them. 

Mr. Sydney Arthur came to see me 

67 


POLLY 



every day, as he had before My Jack's 
death, and finally offered to take charge of 
me. At first Old Tom objected, but finally 
consented, as Mr. Arthur seemed to take 
such an interest in me. After it was all 
settled, both Mickey and Old Tom seemed 
glad, and the latter said : “ I am glad on 
it that ye’r goin’ to take th’ bird. It’s 
mighty hard to listen to her an’ see how 
th' critter has taken her master’s death to 
heart. I’ve done my levellest to cheer her 
up, but she don’t cheer worth a cent.” 

“It is a parrot’s nature to grieve for a 
lost friend,” explained Mr. Arthur. “ I 
have known a number of instances where 
they have died as the result of losing a mate 
or a master.” 

So I was taken away from the forecastle 

68 


POLLY 


and the sailors, and the remainder of the 
voyage I spent in the cabin with my new 
friend. 

Finally we reached Delaware Break- 
water, and from there Mr. Arthur took 
me to Massachusetts to the house of his 
brother at Hyde Park. At first I thought 
the house of Arthur was some kind of a 
dry-dock craft, for it stood in one place 
and never rocked, rolled, or pitched a bit. 
I had never been in a house before, so you 
see I had much to learn. 

In the family of Mr. Arthur at Hyde 
Park there were two boys who were always 
full of fun, and clever as they were bright. 
Then there was a dear little girl with a 
sunny face, a pleasant smile, and such 
gentle manners that I fell in love with her 
69 


POLLY 


on the spot. Mr. Arthur was tall, broad- 
shouldered, and exceedingly good-looking. 
He was a fine musician, and gave lessons 
on the violin and ’cello. Mistress Arthur 
played the piano, and had a voice as sweet 
as a nightingale’s. Clarence, the eldest 
boy, was taking lessons on the ’cello, and 
Carl, the other son, was learning to play 
the violin, and the little girl took lessons 
on the piano. It really seemed a pity that 
I had left off singing, for what an addition 
my voice would have made in such a mu- 
sical family! 

On our arrival Mr. Sydney had ex- 
plained to his brother the circumstances 
which had placed me in his possession, and 
told him of my present disturbed state of 
mind. “ But,” he added, “ she’ll be sure to 

70 


POLLY 


come out all right if she is surrounded with 
gay companions. She is an extraordinary 
talker, and, when in her natural spirits, can 
sing as well as any sailor, and whistle a 
tune as well as a schoolboy.” 

“ And swear like a pirate, I’ll wager,” 
interposed Mr. Arthur. 

“ Well, yes, I believe she has learned a 
few profane words,” answered Mr. Sydney, 
while his smile developed into a broad grin. 
“ I am inclined to believe, however, that 
she will not take it up again, for here she 
will not be reminded of it.” 

“ Let us hope she has forgotten for Jen- 
nie’s sake,** replied Mr. Arthur. “ My 
wife would never tolerate profanity, even 
from a parrot.” 

Mr. Sydney smiled again, and I had not 

71 


POLLY 


a word to say. I would reserve my con- 
versation for another time. Later they 
should all know whether or not I had for- 
gotten the dear language of my forecastle 
friends. 

A few weeks later Mr. Sydney returned 
to South America, promising that when he 
came back again he would bring along a 
young monkey, just to make the menagerie 
complete. 


72 


POLLY 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE COMING OF YOPPY 

When I had been a member of the 
house of Arthur but a few weeks, I made 
the acquaintance of one of Master’s pupils, 
who took a strong fancy to me. His name 
was Henry Herbert, and he came from 
Dingleberry, a town somewhere in New 
Hampshire. 

I always thought he fell in love with 
me at first sight, which would not be at 
all strange, when you stop to consider how 
handsome I am. He immediately stood 
high in my favour, as he looked exactly 
73 


POLLY 


like my lost sailor Jack. I was startled at 
the close resemblance when I first saw him. 
Indeed, I almost thought it was My Jack 
come back again. I gave a cry of surprise 
and pleasure, and called him “ Pretty 
Sweetheart, pretty Sweetheart,” but when 
he answered, “ Pretty Polly,” I knew from 
his voice that he was not Jack. I was much 
pleased with him, though, and from the 
expression on his face I knew that he was 
as much pleased with me. 

After asking all sorts of questions about 
me, he held out his hand and said : “ Come, 
pretty Polly, come and see me.” 

I was perched on the top of my cage, 
so it was an easy matter to step on to his 
hand, which I did, very much to the sur- 
prise of Master Arthur. It was not so 

74 












POLLY 

much what Mr. Herbert said to me, as 
the way in which he said it, that showed 
me he was fond of me. 

“ Pretty, pretty Sweetheart,” I repeated, 
with my head on one side, as I looked him 
straight in the eye. “ Pretty, pretty Sweet- 
heart. Polly loves Sweetheart.” 

My, but he was delighted, and he carried 
me about the room, speaking love words to 
me such as no one had ever done excepting 
Jack. When he put me back on my cage, 
he turned to Master and said: “ You don’t 
want to sell her, do you, Mr. Arthur? ” 

“ Not just yet,” Master answered, smil- 
ing and shaking his head at the same time. 
“ I may be glad to give her away later 
on, but at present we want to keep her. 
She is a great curiosity.” 

75 


POLLY 


While Master and Mr. Herbert dis- 
cussed music, I fell into a reverie. Why 
had my heart gone out to this man, I won- 
dered. Was it because he looked like my 
lost Jack, because he had the same tender 
blue eyes, and the same caressing manner, 
or was it because he loved me for myself 
and not because I was a curiosity? Ah, 
yes, that was it. He loved me for myself, 
as he loved all creatures, and I knew why 
I loved him, for I had read love in his eyes. 
Yes, this was a friend worth having, a 
friend who, if he once became a creature’s 
master, no money could tempt him to sell 
his pet. 

I was such a well-conducted parrot in 
those days that I was allowed many priv- 
ileges; the door of my cage was seldom 

76 


POLLY 


closed, so that if I wished to roam about 
the house, I did so at my own sweet will. 
My cage sat on a table in a sunny window, 
where I could see the school-children going 
back and forth. They always pleased me, 
and often I would coo-hoo to them as they 
passed. 

I had been at the house of Arthur for 
about a year, when one day Mr. Sydney 
Arthur returned, and much to my disgust 
he brought with him the other pet he had 
promised his brother. In the days when 
I was in mourning for my native home, 
there was one advantage which I had al- 
ways recognized; I was at last well rid 
of the entire tribe of ring-tails. Imagine 
my disgust, then, in beholding Mr. Sydney 
Arthur’s new pet, one of those grinning 
77 


POLLY 


monkeys. And what was more to my dis- 
gust, the homely, insignificant little thing 
was to live under the same roof with me. 
Such an insult I had never been subjected 
to before. I was in my cage when the 
creature was brought in, and at once let 
every one present understand just what I 
thought of him. 

My first course was to utter a series of 
ear-splitting shrieks and squawks, which 
must have been deafening to all who heard 
me. 

“ I guess Polly is jealous,” remarked 
Mr. Sydney, as I paused between shrieks 
to get my breath. 

“ I should say so,!’ answered Master, “ if 
one is to judge by the noise — ” 

Before he had a chance to finish the sen- 

78 


POLLY 


tence, I cut him short with another ear- 
splitting shriek. In my rage, and not 
knowing what else to do, I bit a hole clear 
through my drinking-cup, then, for the first 
time since my coming to the house of Ar- 
thur, I was punished. My cage was cov- 
ered with a cloth, which was used to shut 
out the light early in the morning, and I 
was obliged to sit in darkness and listen 
to a most disagreeable discussion regarding 
the intelligence of that miserable little 
monkey. Not a word was spoken of the 
intelligence of parrots. Not a single word. 
And I had been a member of the household 
for a whole year. 

At supper-time the covering was taken 
from my cage, and Mistress Arthur in- 
formed me that I could have my supper if 
79 


POLLY 


I behaved myself. Behave myself, indeed! 
As if I ever did otherwise. I was very 
hungry, so I made no fuss for the time 
being. I would see to that later. But 
then I wanted to be sure that I had some- 
thing to eat before attempting to interview 
that ring-tailed nuisance. 

After supper both our cages were car- 
ried into the sitting-room, and I had an 
opportunity to tell that animal what I 
thought of him. I began by saying, 
“ Hello! ” 

The monkey answered me with an idiotic 
squeak and a long string of “ Tuti-tu-tu- 
tu-tute-tums,” and a prolonged imbecile 
grin. Then I knew that it would be war 
to the knife between us. 

For some unaccountable reason his com- 


80 


POLLY 


ing aroused in me some of my former spirit, 
and once again I began to chatter. There 
were no more softly spoken words, but I 
have no doubt that if they had not insulted 
me by bringing that imp to the house 
where I was, I should have remained a 
well-behaved bird to the end of my life. 
I had been insulted, however, and those 
who had permitted the offence, I thought, 
should suffer in consequence. 

Up to this time I had been a most ex- 
emplary bird. I had never uttered a dis- 
agreeable squawk, and whenever I called 
to the children, it had always been in my 
most agreeable manner. Now all this was 
changed, and I was as ready for a fight 
with that monkey as I had been that day 
long ago in the jungle. 

81 


POLLY 


Instead of a low-spoken “ Hello,” 
“ Pretty Polly,” or “ Pretty Sweetheart,” 
I began to imitate the children as I heard 
them shout on their way to school, and 
repeated whatever I heard our boys say, 
at least whatever I thought worth while. 
As soon as the boys found out that I re- 
peated much of what they said, there was 
nothing that they did not try to teach me. 

Within three days of the monkey’s ar- 
rival, I learned that his name was 
“ Yoppy,” and used to shout at him in 
great glee. I enjoyed teasing him espe- 
cially, by saying: “Oh, Yoppy, Yoppy, 
what a funny bird you are!” He would 
become perfectly frantic, and would rattle 
his chain, and bare his teeth at me, but 
I was not in the least afraid. Even if he 


82 


POLLY 


should get hold of me, I could protect 
myself. 

I never could understand why my friend 
Mr. Herbert should have taken such a 
fancy to that little grinning idiot. Before 
the coming of Yoppy, I used to have all 
of his attention, but now matters were 
changed, and I could have only half. 

Yoppy was a perfect little pig as far 
as Mr. Herbert was concerned, regarding 
him as his own private property, and when 
it was my turn to be petted, my, what a 
fuss he would raise! He would rattle his 
chain and chew his fingers and the end of 
his tail. But what else can one expect of 
a monkey! 

One day Yoppy got loose while I was 
taking a nap, and after rioting around the 
83 


POLLY 


room until it had the appearance of hav- 
ing been struck by a hurricane, he paid a 
visit to my cage. He received such a warm 
reception, though, that he left me in a 
hurry, and my beak he remembered for a 
long time to come. 

To do Yoppy justice, however, I must 
say that in spite of his many faults, he had 
a bright spot somewhere in his brain, for 
there was not a bolt or bar, lock or chain, 
that the little imp could not manage. I 
often watched him as he examined the links 
in his chain, each one so patiently, and as 
if his life depended on finding one which 
was weaker than the rest. He would work 
on it for hours, and sometimes weeks, rub- 
bing and twisting the weak link against 
another, until at last it would be worn so 

84 


POLLY 


thin that it would easily break, when away 
would go Yoppy on a rampage. 

In vain did Master Arthur try all sorts 
of fastenings. Yoppy’s acuteness proved 
too much, and at last he got loose once too 
often. As a result, little was left to the 
music-room, and Yoppy was banished for 
ever from the house of Arthur. To my 
intense delight I held the place of honour 
once more. 


85 


POLLY 


CHAPTER VIII. 

EXERCISE 

After the departure of Yoppy, matters 
went on much as usual in the house of 
Arthur. Pupils came and went, and Mas- 
ter Arthur frequently went to Boston, 
where he took part in concerts, so that 
much of his time was taken up with en- 
gagements. I was always glad, however, 
when he had an evening at home, for then 
we had a little concert of our own. Mis- 
tress had a beautiful voice, and Master 
would accompany her with the ’cello. 

One evening I attempted to take part in 

86 


POLLY 


the concert myself. They had never in- 
vited me to join them, so I started in of 
my own accord. When I struck up “ Pop 
Goes the Weasel,” Master deliberately shut 
the door of the music-room. Nor was that 
the end of it, for when I tried to make 
myself heard, Master added insult to in- 
jury by telling me to stop my everlasting 
croaking, saying my voice was too much 
out of tune to harmonize with that of my 
mistress. There is no denying the fact 
that she had a lovely voice, but if any one’s 
voice was out of tune, it was hers, not mine. 
So, you see, that was all the thanks I 
received for trying to assist in a family 
musical. 

By this time I had fully recovered my 
naturally happy spirits. I could rattle off 
87 


POLLY 


stanza after stanza of all the popular songs 
of the day, but, strange to say, I had en- 
tirely forgotten the songs and language of 
the dear old forecastle. Everything con- 
nected with my life on shipboard had 
seemed to slip from my mind, excepting 
the face of My Dear Sweetheart Jack. 

Every week Mr. Herbert came to see 
me, and always took me for a walk with 
him, telling me all the while what a pretty 
bird I was, and my heart fairly delighted 
in the praise I received from him. He was 
so much like Jack, so very much like him 
that I almost imagined my former master 
had come back again. Many a time during 
our walks I would close my eyes and in 
a soft cooing voice would say to Mr. Her- 


88 


POLLY 


bert: “ Pretty, pretty Sweetheart! How 
I love Sweetheart!” 

He would stroke my feathers in return, 
or, what I liked best of all, would scratch 
my head, calling me a darling bird. Again 
I would coo my appreciation, and at those 
times was as happy as a creature could 
be. 

One day we had been so interested in our 
walk that he quite forgot to look at his 
watch, until a toot, toot in the distance told 
him he had lost his train and must wait 
another hour. We continued our walk in 
the garden, where Master Arthur joined 
us, saying as he came up: “Well, well, 
Mr. Herbert, you and Polly seem to be 
very fond of each other.” 

“ Indeed, we are,” answered Mr. Her- 

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POLLY 


bert. “ Polly’s a fine bird, and I only wish 
I could take her home with me.” 

“ It’s queer how she takes to you. I 
haven’t another pupil whom she will even 
let scratch her head,” said my master. 

“ I don’t quite understand it myself,” 
replied Mr. Herbert. “ But I know there 
is a great difference in the way persons are 
regarded by dumb animals. I have never 
seen a creature that I could not make 
friends with, and am inclined to believe 
that there is a subtle something, I hardly 
know what to call it, that makes them 
understand who their real friends are. 
Many people are fond of pets as long as 
the pets are no special bother to them, 
though when they become troublesome in 
any way, either by sickness or by causing 

90 


POLLY 


their masters some inconvenience, they will 
try to dispose of them in some way or 
other. When an animal is sick, so sick 
that there is no chance of its recovery, the 
sooner the poor creature is mercifully put 
out of the way, the better; but to me it 
seems that is the only occasion under which 
a person has a right to dispose of a pet. 
At our house, if once we take a pet into 
our family, there is not money enough that 
can buy it, and we are always willing to 
put ourselves to any inconvenience for the 
comfort and well-being of our dumb 
friends, as much as though they were chil- 
dren of our own. It is the only way to 
make them happy, and, in assuming the 
responsibility of their care, we should like- 
wise do our best to make them happy.” 

91 


POLLY 


Mr. Herbert turned to Master, and 
laughingly said : “ Excuse me, I did not 
mean to preach, but it is seldom I speak 
so freely as this about matters which are 
nearest to my heart. But I am and always 
have been so fond of animals that once in 
awhile I cannot help it.” 

When Mr. Herbert had gone, Master 
walked with me to the house. He was evi- 
dently in a thoughtful mood, and I did not 
know whether it was the talk he had with 
Mr. Herbert or not, but he decided that 
same afternoon that I must at least have 
more exercise. 

It has never been considered that parrots 
are especially mischievous, so no one had 
an idea when I was given my liberty I 
would do anything out of the way. My 

92 


POLLY 


cage was left open, and no one paid any 
attention to me, when I walked into the 
kitchen, beyond Master telling Bridget, 
the housemaid, to be careful that the cat 
should not come into the kitchen. 

A little later she left the kitchen, and 
I at once began a voyage of discovery, and 
soon found the place much more interest- 
ing than I had at first supposed. On a 
table at one side of the kitchen there was 
something covered with a white cloth. I 
flew across the room and began to inves- 
tigate. With my beak I pulled off the 
cloth, and underneath found some pans 
filled with white stuff, which I afterward 
learned was bread dough. I stuck my bill 
into it, taking a generous mouthful. The 
taste was not to my liking, but it was good 
93 


POLLY 


chewing, so I bit pieces from it here, there, 
and everywhere, and walked through it 
several times. The dough was soft, and I 
sank into it; it stuck to my claws, and 
finally I had quite a little difficulty in free- 
ing myself. 

Under like circumstances, probably, 
Yoppy would have finished by dumping 
the entire mass on the floor. I was not 
so destructive by nature, and so was con- 
tent with what I had already done with 
the dough. 

I then turned my attention to the white 
covering, and tore it to pieces. It didn’t 
bother me a particle that it was made of 
the finest of linen. I found it just as good 
to tear as a poorer quality would have 
been. I then flew to the window and began 

94 


POLLY 


to chew the sash. I can easily bite through 
a stick an inch thick, so of course I found 
no difficulty in biting out large pieces. 

The kitchen seemed to offer no more 
inducements, so up I went the back stairs. 
Bridget was busy sweeping Master’s room, 
so I flew past, and went into the boys’ 
room. I was not sure at first whose room 
it was, but afterward I knew all about it. 
The top drawer of the dresser stood open, 
— just like a boy’s carelessness to leave 
things in such disorder! How, then, could 
they blame me? It was all the boys’ fault, 
every bit of it. They should have been 
far more careful in regard to leaving temp- 
tation in the way of an innocent bird. 

Being right before me, how could I help 
tearing up their neckties and chewing their 
95 


POLLY 


collars? Besides, I nearly choked myself 
with a collar button, and got my claws all 
tangled up in some fiddle strings. This 
made me mad, and, in endeavouring to free 
myself from the tangle, I upset a bottle of 
violet water. Surely no one could blame 
me that the dresser had a marble top, and 
of course it was not my fault that the bottle 
smashed, and still less so that the horrid- 
smelling stuff trickled into the drawer, — 
that is to say, the part that did not run 
on to the floor. 

Still trying to free myself, I upset an- 
other bottle containing witch-hazel, and the 
contents followed the violet water. Finally 
I unentangled my feet, and then turned 
my attention to the knobs on the drawer. 
These I chewed well, after which I went 

96 


POLLY 


for Master Carl’s violin, and had already 
pulled off two strings when a shriek from 
Bridget nearly frightened me out of my 
wits. 

“ Oh, ye villain,” she screamed, shaking 
her fist at me. “ Bad luck to yez, fer a 
rascally bla’guard! Sure an’ you’re as bad 
as that little shpalpeen of a monkey, an’ 
that’s what ye are.” 

I uttered a shriek, laughed as loudly as 
I could, and flew at her. She dropped her 
broom and retreated at once to call Mas- 
ter. He came and carried me back to my 
cage, telling me that he guessed I had had 
enough exercise for one day. 

From my station in the dining-room I 
could hear Bridget when she returned to 
see if the “ baking had riz.” Such a series 
97 


POLLY 


of lamentations you never heard when she 
discovered the condition of the dough. 
Really, it was quite too funny, and I 
chuckled and chuckled over it. The last 
remark that I heard Bridget make was: 
“ ’Deed, an’ if I catch that burrd in the 
kitchen again, I’ll wring her neck an’ give 
her to the cat.” Then Mistress shut the 
dining-room door and I heard no more. 

Wring my neck, indeed! I laughed at 
the idea, and wondered what Bridget 
thought I would be doing while she was 
trying it. She would have soon found 
there was a beak near my neck, and I 
rather think she would have found that it 
could give a good, hard bite. 

But for real true fun, you ought to have 
heard the boys when they discovered I had 

98 


POLLY 


visited their room. What a fuss they made 
about such trifling circumstances. One 
would have thought I had done something 
terrible, instead of being the innocent cause 
of a few accidents, for which they them- 
selves were wholly to blame. 

Seriously, I suppose, I should have been 
sorry, and in my way I was sorry, very 
sorry that my hopes of ever having any 
more exercise had been postponed to the 
far future. 

LOFC. 


99 


POLLY 


CHAPTER IX. 

PRAISE AND NOTORIETY 

I had been more or less discontented 
since the day I had such fun in the boys’ 
room, and had spoiled the “ baking.” I 
wanted to get out again and take some 
more exercise. My beak fairly ached for 
something to do, and there was the wood- 
work all along the room, which really 
would look much better for a little carving. 
There were a great many things about the 
house which really needed my attention, 
but no one was wise enough to realize it. 
Under no conditions was I allowed the 

100 


POLLY 


sweetness of freedom, which I had so much 
enjoyed on that memorable day. I could 
simply dream of the past and bide my 
time. 

I was sitting on my perch one morning, 
wondering what was the use of being alive, 
when suddenly I became aware of a 
stealthy tread. I looked around, and there 
before me was the worst specimen of a 
human rag-bag that I had ever seen, and 
he was making his way directly to the side- 
board. Watching him intently, I soon saw 
that he had come to help himself to the 
silver, although what that dirty-looking 
vagabond wanted with silver was more 
than I could understand. Without a par- 
ticle of noise, he gathered up a handful 
of teaspoons, and with a broad grin on 

101 


POLLY 


his face was about to slip them into his 
pocket. 

At last I realized what he was doing, 
and, drawing a long breath, gave vent to 
one of my most ear-splitting shrieks. The 
tramp jumped, and at the same time the 
teaspoons, which he intended to put in his 
pockets, flew with a jingle all over the 
carpet. He made for my cage, but evi- 
dently decided the spoons were of more 
value to him than my life, and began gath- 
ering them up from the floor. 

Suddenly the thought flashed into my 
mind that this creature resembled a man 
who came into the yard with a bag over 
his shoulder, crying “Rags! OF bottles! 
Rags ! ” In my loudest voice I shrieked 
out: “Rags! Rags! Rags! OF bottles, 

102 


POLLY 


Rags! Rags!” I was nearly out of breath 
when at last I heard footsteps on the stairs. 
The tramp made a dash for the kitchen 
door, and the two spoons that he had had 
time to pick up fell to the ground just as 
he swung open the door and ran into 
Bridget coming in with a tray of dishes. 
There was a wild cry from Bridget, yells 
from the tramp, a loud crash of broken 
china, and a hasty exit of shuffling feet 
from the kitchen, while I continued to cry: 
“Rags! Rags! OF bottles! Rags!” 

“ What in the world does this racket 
mean? ” exclaimed Mistress, as she rushed 
into the room. 

“Rags! Rags!” I gasped. 

“ Sure an’ it was a thramp, mum, that 
was in this room, a-thrying to shteal th’ 
103 


POLLY 


silver, mum. An’ Polly here hollered, 
‘ Rags, rags,’ an’ scared him off entoirely.” 

Mistress looked out of the window, and, 
seeing the tramp hurry down the street, 
understood. “Of all things!” she ex- 
claimed. “ That parrot has noticed the 
resemblance between the sneak thief and 
our rag-man.” 

When she had gathered up the spoons, 
counted them, and found that none were 
missing, she came to my cage and said: 
“You dear, dear Polly! How little you 
realize what you have done, — and they 
were my dear mother’s spoons, too.” 

When Master and the little folks came 
home, they were all told about my scaring 
off the tramp, and suddenly I found my- 
self quite a heroine, with all past misde- 

104 


POLLY 


meanours forgiven. The news spread, and 
all the neighbours flocked in to gaze at the 
saviour of the silver spoons, and to lavish 
on me all the pet names and words of 
praise you can imagine. My neck fairly 
twisted with pride, especially when several 
newspaper men came to interview Mistress 
and take pictures of me. 

The following day my picture appeared 
in the Boston papers, and in one paper 
they had a heading in great black letters: 

“ PARROT DETECTS SNEAK 
THIEF IN ACT OF STEAL- 
ING FAMILY SILVER.” 

There was a column and a half of finer 
print, which Master read aloud to the fam- 
105 


POLLY 


ily, while I, near by, listened with my heart 
swelling with pride. Nor was that the end 
of it. I soon found myself not only the 
pet and pride of my family, but people 
came from far and near to see what they 
called the “ wonderful bird.” But alas, 
how uncertain is praise; and how little I 
thought that my own importance was of 
such short duration! 


106 


POLLY 


CHAPTER X. 

A REMINDER OF THE PAST 

I have always blamed a certain minister 
for my sudden fall from grace, and I never 
see one of those black-coated persons that 
I do not want to flap my wings in his face 
and say the most disagreeable things I can. 
One morning while the family was at 
breakfast, I heard Master say to Mistress: 
“ My dear, on Wednesday evening, Doc- 
tor Blank, Boston’s famous minister, is 
coming out to dinner.” 

At the time I did not know what a min- 
ister was. But when Wednesday night 
107 


POLLY 


came, I found it was nothing but a man, 
— rather distinguished-looking, to be sure, 
but just a man, all the same. He wore 
a long coat, which was very black, a black 
vest, a pair of trousers black as the coat 
and vest, while his shirt-front and tie were 
as white as the other clothes were black. 
His eyes were clear and bright, his nose 
long and pointed, and on his cheeks were 
the smallest of white whiskers. 

My cage was in its accustomed place 
in the bay-window of the dining-room. 
Lately my master and mistress seemed to 
enjoy having me where I could be seen by 
all visitors. When they started in for din- 
ner, it was, of course, quite natural for the 
minister to stop at my cage and say: “ So 


108 


POLLY 


this is the parrot of which I have read so 
much? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Mistress, proudly. 
“ And you may be sure we all think a 
great deal of her.” 

“ Indeed, you have good reason to be 
proud of your pet,” answered the minister, 
as he drew near my cage. 

“Pretty Polly!” I cried. “Pretty 
Polly! Polly loves Polly.” 

Every one laughed, and Mr. Arthur 
said: “ You told the truth that time, Polly, 
if you never did before.” And again they 
all laughed, while the minister came a little 
nearer to my cage and smiled on me, say- 
ing, “ Pretty Polly.” 

“ Pretty Polly,” I answered, politely. 

“ Polly want a cracker? ” he continued. 

109 


POLLY 


I turned my head and looked at him out 
of one eye, while I searched my brain for 
the answer that Old Tom had taught me 
long ago. What was it? Suddenly, as the 
question, “ Polly want a cracker? ” was 
repeated, the answer flashed through my 
mind, and out it came, to the evident hor- 
ror of Mistress. Perhaps Master was 
shocked, too, only he didn’t appear so. 
The minister laughed, and evidently 
thought it a good joke, saying: “ Thank 
you, Polly, but I had rather go to din- 
ner.” 

Master Arthur laughed, and the boys 
snickered, but I knew from the expression 
on Mistress’s face, as she sat bolt upright 
in her chair, that I had committed an un- 
pardonable sin. Would you believe it, 

110 


POLLY 


instead of being sorry I had shocked her, 
I wanted to do it some more. 

“ Polly want a cracker? ” had brought 
all the past back to me. How could I have 
forgotten the forecastle, the merry songs, 
and the sayings the sailors had taught me. 
Quickly all the old words and sentences 
came crowding into my mind. I saw the 
people were busy with their dinner. What 
better time to give them an entertainment? 
Out poured the talk of the sailors, their 
favourite songs and epithets. 

To my intense delight I saw all had 
stopped eating, but on Mistress’s face was 
a look I had never seen before. The min- 
ister’s words had truly brought the past 
before me once again, and I was shouting 
at the top of my lungs, when Mistress or- 

111 


POLLY 


dered me taken from the room. The din- 
ing-room door closed with a click, and I 
was left in the kitchen, with only Bridget 
to swear at. 

I can’t understand, though, why I was 
punished. It was all the minister’s fault, 
not mine. He should not have reminded 
me of the past. 


112 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XI. 

AFTER MY DOWNFALL 

It was hard, indeed, to be made to real- 
ize that, from my position of prominence, 
where I had been petted and praised until 
my head was nearly turned, I should in 
turn as suddenly find myself in the deepest 
disgrace, and all because that “ eminent 
divine ” had been careless in his speech. 
My downfall was the more bitter when 
Bridget told me I was worse than Yoppy 
had ever even thought of being. “ Sure, 
an’ as bad as that shpalpeen of a monkey 
was, he would never do the loikes of that,” 
113 


POLLY 


which showed how much she knew about 
monkeys. Why, if Yoppy had been en- 
dowed with the power of speech, there isn’t 
a word in the English language that would 
have been too bad for him to use. As for 
my badness, I gloried in it, and took the 
greatest pleasure in yelling the forecastle 
language at any and all who came into the 
kitchen. 

After that memorable night, I was never 
under any circumstances allowed to enter 
the front part of the house. My visitors 
consisted principally of the grocer, the 
butcher, the baker, and some other fellow, 
— who he was, I don’t know. At any 
rate, he came to see Bridget three times 
a week and twice on Sundays, and I soon 


114 


POLLY 


became accustomed to his calls, and we be- 
came very good friends. 

I am not sure Bridget would care to 
have me tell everything I know about the 
doings in the kitchen, but it was strange 
to see her pay so much attention to this 
caller, and never as much as wink at the 
baker or the others. I decided it wasn’t 
right for her to show so much partiality, 
and I made up my mind that the other 
fellows should have a chance. 

The following morning when the gro- 
cery man came, and Bridget only greeted 
him with a pleasant “ Good morning to 
yez,” and gave him an order for some 
rolled oats and crackers, I felt it was time 
to take matters in hand. With my head 
turned to one side, I said somewhat 
115 


POLLY 


sharply: “ Get out with your rolled oats 
and crackers. Give the other fellow a 
kiss” 

Bridget was startled, to say the least. 
Her face turned as red as her hair, and a 
broad grin appeared on the face of the 
grocery man, as he wrote down the order. 
“Is that all , Bridget? ” he asked, while his 
eyes twinkled with merriment. 

Bridget had covered her face with her 
apron, but at this it came down, and, with 
eyes flashing, she answered, “ That’s all, 
sir.” 

“ Bad give-away, Bridget,” I heard the 
grocery man say, as he went down the 
path. “ I would cover Polly’s cage when 
the other fellow comes. Then she won’t 
tell tales out of school.” 


116 


POLLY 


Bridget was left in none too amiable a 
state of mind, and she turned to me, say- 
ing, — and I guess she meant what she 
said, — “ Ah-h-h, ye scallywag, if ye don’t 
learn to keep your tongue between your 
teeth, I’ll put youse into th’ wood-shed.” 

It certainly looked as if I were retreat- 
ing, instead of advancing in my social 
career. Things had come to a pretty pass 
when I was not good enough to stay in the 
kitchen. Ah, well, it is a long lane that 
has no turning, and I felt that mine must 
turn some day. 

When Bridget, my sole companion, was 
cross, the kitchen was anything but agree- 
able, so when her anger had somewhat 
cooled off, I spoke to her softly. She 


117 


POLLY 


never answered, but went about her work 
as if I were not in the room. 

“ Bridget,” I repeated, in a caressing 
tone. “ Bridget.” She must have been 
thoroughly mad. 

“ Pretty Bridget,” I ventured. “ Polly 
loves Bridget.” That brought a response. 

“ Ah, sure, an’, Polly, ye’re a bad lot, 
but ye’re a darlint all the same.” Peace 
was declared between us, and I volunteered 
to entertain her with some of my classics. 
When I sang “ The Irish Jaunting-car,” 
Bridget exclaimed : “ Musha, Polly, me 

darlint, ye’re a burrd after me own heart, 
and your sins are all forgiven yez.” 


118 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XII. 

ANOTHER TOUR OF EXPLORATION 

Sitting all alone in the kitchen, with 
Bridget up-stairs and the children off to 
school, I had more or less of a dull time. 
I couldn’t sing all the time, and I often 
grew tired of my own voice, and longed 
for anything that would break the tiresome 
monotony of attempting to amuse myself. 
Why wouldn’t Mistress allow my cage to 
be set again in its accustomed place where, 
at least, I could see her at her work-table? 
I knew I had offended her, and by this 
time was well aware I had done things that 
119 


POLLY 


I should not have done. But who hasn’t 
done wrong? It did not seem at all just 
that one set of human beings should banish 
me for using language that another set 
had taught me. Besides, I had used that 
language only when the minister came, 
which, as far as I can see, isn’t a mite worse 
than using the best dishes for company. 

While thinking over these weighty prob- 
lems, I heard Master and Mistress calmly 
discussing me in the next room. “ Henry 
Herbert will be glad to have her,” Master 
said. 

“ Very well, my dear,” was the quiet 
response from my mistress. “ You may 
send her off any time you wish. I can’t 
stand her talking, and I won’t allow the 
children to listen to it.” 


120 


POLLY 


“Just as you say, Jennie,” answered 
Master. “ Herbert will begin his lessons 
again in September, so we need endure 
Polly but a few weeks longer.” 

Thus they practically disposed of me, 
and without in the least consulting my 
wishes. 

To make a very bad matter worse, a few 
days later they all went off to the seashore, 
leaving Bridget and me to keep house by 
ourselves. I was so lonely and the house 
was so still I could not endure it. I began 
to shriek and squawk until at last Bridget 
said: “Ye schreechin’ vagabond, you! If 
ye don’t stop, I’ll give ye to the cat.” 

I think Tom Puss must have heard her 
remark, and decided he would not wait for 
that time, but would help himself. Coolly 

121 


POLLY 


he walked toward my cage, but I saw him 
coming. 

I think it was his intention to draw me 
between the bars of my cage, kill me, and 
eat me at his leisure. I kept my eye on 
him, but suddenly he made a plunge at 
my cage, and before I knew it, he had 
one of his claws in my feathers, and I 
could feel the sharp points penetrating my 
skin. 

I must confess I was somewhat sur- 
prised, and not a little frightened, for I 
had not expected such a sudden onslaught. 
I did not dare to move, fearing his claws 
would tear my flesh. In a few seconds, 
in came his other paw, and the time to act 
had come. If I did not dare to move my 
body, my neck was ready for action, and, 

122 


POLLY 


as his other paw appeared in my cage, I 
turned the tables on him, and gave it a 
good dig with my beak. 

My, what a howl he gave! In a twin- 
kling his paws left my cage, and such a 
time as he had spitting and growling with 
pain and rage. He was, indeed, glad to 
get back beneath the stove and nurse his 
wounded leg. 

Thomas learned at least three lessons 
that day, that parrots are always dangerous 
unless you have their good-will, that they 
are not to be caught for eating purposes, 
and that some of them are not as green as 
they seem. 

The last of August brought the return 
of the Arthurs. The little folks and Mas- 
ter were delighted to see me, and even Mis- 
123 


POLLY 


tress seemed to have revived some of her 
love for me. 

Perhaps my former bad behaviour might 
have been forgiven me had I not taken it 
into my head to go on another tour of 
exploration. As it is not my nature, as 
a rule, to be mischievous, some evil spirit 
must have whispered in my ear that day, 
for I know I should never have thought 
of half the things I accomplished if I had 
not had some outside help, — or was it 
perhaps inside help? 

Master and Mistress were going to Bos- 
ton for the day; the little folks were away 
at school, and Bridget and I were to be 
alone in the house. I had been cooped up 
in my cage so long that I was pining for 
exercise. Fortunately, I had been on my 

124 


POLLY 


good behaviour for several days, and when 
Mistress came to the kitchen to give some 
final instructions to Bridget, I said : 
“ Pretty Mistress, pretty Mistress, Polly 
wants to go to walk.” 

Mistress looked surprised. I had never 
told her before that she was pretty. “ Bless 
your heart,” came the answer. “ So you 
shall. Clarence, dear,” she called to Mas- 
ter, “ come and take Polly out of her cage. 
She says she wants some exercise, bless 
her.” 

Mistress didn’t tell what else I had said, 
and it didn’t matter in the least, as long 
as I gained my liberty. 

“ You can fasten her by a stout cord, 
can’t you, Clarence? In that way, she 
won’t get into mischief while we are gone.” 
125 


POLLY 


“ Ye-es,” answered Master, somewhat 
dubiously. But he hunted up a cord by 
which he could fasten me. He brought 
one which was strong enough, in his opin- 
ion, to hold me. One end was fastened to 
my cage, and the other attached to my 
leg. 

“ There, I guess, old girl, you won’t get 
into any serious mischief,” Master said, as 
he examined the knot he had made. 
“ Bridget, be sure you do not let Tom 
Puss get after Polly. Bad as she is, we 
don’t want her eaten alive.” 

There certainly was no need for Master 
to caution Bridget concerning the cat, for 
at that moment poor Tom was sitting in 
the corner, licking his paw, where the 
marks of my beak still remained. When 

126 


POLLY 


Bridget finished her morning work, she 
went out, contrary to her usual habit. The 
cat went with her, so I suppose she felt 
I was perfectly safe. 

The spirit of mischief entered my soul. 
My beak was as good as a pair of shears, 
and in a moment the cord was cut and I 
was free. I would have one grand cele- 
bration, if I never lived to have another, 
and away I flew into the dining-room, 
where everything was neat. 

The fruit-dish was in the centre of the 
table. I had eaten my breakfast, so I did 
not care for fruit, but I was pining for 
something to chew. I soon made large 
holes in two of the biggest bananas, and 
then turned my attention to the Mexican 
drawn-work, on which the fruit-dish rested. 
127 


POLLY 


This piece of work was very beautiful as 
it was, but my beak could make it more 
beautiful, if drawn-work counted. Hold- 
ing one end of the cover in my claw, I 
began to pull threads , and in such a man- 
ner as no human hands could ever have 
done. When my work was finished, it 
would have taken an expert to find where 
the Mexican work left off, and where the 
South American work began. I certainly 
had done a wonderful piece of work in 
the centre, but the hem I had not touched. 
After mature consideration I decided I did 
not approve of hemstitching; I much pre- 
ferred a fringe, and proceeded to make it 
after my own approved fashion. 

I had been busy with my fancy work 
and had not noticed numerous scrolls and 

128 


POLLY 


conventional designs which all uncon- 
sciously I had made with my beak on the 
polished surface of the table. Really I 
was more of an artist than I had at first 
supposed, and why shouldn’t I strut about 
in great pride over my accomplishments? 

The bay-window was filled with choice 
plants, among them a beautiful palm and 
a tall, stately rubber-tree. The latter at- 
tracted my attention. It was in perfect 
health, and had grown so tall that it nearly 
reached the top of the window. It was the 
pride of Mistress Arthur’s heart. There 
had been a time when a fern had held the 
first place in her affections, but months 
before Yoppy had robbed it of its beauty. 
Many a time I had seen friends of Mis- 
tress’s admire the rubber plant, and each 
129 


POLLY 


would declare it the most magnificent plant 
in town. I could not see what there was 
of beauty about that tall, awkward-looking 
stick. 

Suddenly it occurred to me the plant 
was greatly in need of pruning. It would 
grow better afterward, and my, how I 
should enjoy the task! With my head on 
one side, I thought the matter over. Yes, 
it certainly needed clipping, and, as no one 
else had discovered the fact, I with my 
clipper-like beak would undertake the task. 
How bright and shiny the rubber leaves 
looked, and what delicious chewing they 
would make, and what exercise for my 
beak! 

When, from my station at the window, 
I had watched the gardener clip the hedge 

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POLLY 


I had observed that he began at the top 
and worked his way downward. This man- 
ner of clipping might be well enough for 
the gardener, but I would begin at the base 
of the rubber plant and work my way up. 
It was the way of the parrot family, and I 
had learned it long ago in the jungle. 

I nipped off the first leaf. How crisp 
and juicy it was, and how I enjoyed chew- 
ing it! No more window-sashes for me 
as long as I could have rubber plants. It 
was no small task to crawl up the plant 
and cut off every leaf, but at last my work 
was accomplished, and I was taking a well- 
earned rest, swaying upon the top of the 
plant and calmly viewing my finished task, 
when I heard Bridget’s voice in the kitchen. 
She had returned sooner than I had ex- 
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POLLY 


pected, and was evidently looking for 
me. 

“ Arrah, Polly, ye scallywag yez, where 
are yez? ” 

“ Hello, hello !” I called from my lofty 
perch. 

“Is that yerself, ye villain?” came the 
reply. The next instant she stood in the 
doorway. There was silence for a moment, 
and then came a genuine wild Irish cry, 
while her hands went up with a gesture of 
horror. I declare, one would have thought 
I had committed some terrible crime! 

It was great fun to see her eyes roll, 
and to hear her lamentations about what 
“ the Missus ” would say. I, on my perch, 
joined in as well as I could, by giving vent 
to all the shrieks, squawks, and wails I had 

132 


POLLY 


ever heard in the native land of parrots. 
Finally Bridget, with an attitude of deter- 
mination, proving her courage to be better 
than her judgment, rushed forward and 
seized the stump of the rubber plant, giv- 
ing it a vigorous shake. I clung to my 
perch, but, with another shake, down I 
came, lighting squarely on the top of her 
red head. 

“ Whoop-a-la! whoop-a-la! ” I yelled at 
the top of my voice, while Bridget, crazed 
with fright, raced around in a vain en- 
deavour to shake me from her head. 

“ Och, cone! It’s kilt Oi’ll be intoirely. 
Oh, oh, she’s a-clawing the head aff me!” 

I flapped my wings, and clawed all the 
more, laughing and shrieking in high glee. 
Finally Bridget became desperate, and I 
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POLLY 


had to hang on with my beak. If she had 
not shaken her head so violently, I prob- 
ably should not have pulled out so much 
of her hair. When the ruddy tress fell 
to the floor, she screamed the louder, unit- 
ing her voice with mine in a series of fran- 
tic shrieks and discords. She tried to 
knock me off her head, and when I nearly 
bit a piece out of her finger, she shrieked 
for mercy and help, but I kept up, and, 
leaning over, scraped her forehead with 
my beak. This was evidently the last 
straw, for, summoning all her courage and 
strength, she managed to hit me with such 
force that I went sprawling to the floor. 

I arose in my wrath and turned on her, 
and would have flown into her face, but 
at that moment the grocery man entered 

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POLLY 


the kitchen. For a moment I forgot to act, 
and Bridget made good her escape. 

I had started in an amiable frame of 
mind, but, with that blow from Bridget, 
my feelings underwent a change. Besides, 
the spirit of destruction was upon me, and 
I would destroy everything within my 
reach. Into the music-room I flew, and 
there in the corner stood Master’s ’cello, 
the pride of his heart. In my rage I flew 
at it, and bit several large pieces from the 
edges, chewed the bridge, and bit the 
strings until they all snapped. 

This mollified my anger to a great de- 
gree, and I flew to the top of the piano, 
where I gazed about wondering what next 
I would do, when who should appear but 
Bridget! 

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POLLY 


Yes, Bridget, wearing over her head a 
canary-bird’s cage. One hand was covered 
with a baseball glove, while in the other, 
which was tied up in a burlap bag, she car- 
ried the top of my cage. 

Without a word and with a look of de- 
termination in her eyes, she made straight 
for me, and, just as I was preparing to 
fly at her again, she clapped my cage over 
me. 

“Bad luck to ye, ye rusty pate!” she 
yelled. 

I had been completely outdone by Irish 
wit, and was a prisoner once more. I 
shrieked with rage, but it did no good. 
When Bridget had secured me, she went 
to the kitchen and brought the bottom of 
my cage, which she slid under the top. 

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POLLY 


Then, taking off her fighting gloves, she 
fastened my cage with a great show of 
spirits. 

“ Now scratch all ye want to, ye rascal. 
’Deed, an’ ye’ll not get out again in a 
hurry ! ” 

“ Old rusty pate, old rusty pate,” I 
called, wrathfully, dancing about on my 
perch, biting my bars, upsetting the water- 
cup, and scattering the seed. 

My short reign was over. 


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POLLY 


CHAPTER XIII. 

YOPPY AND I MEET AGAIN 

When Master and Mistress returned 
from Boston and learned of my escapade, 
their indignation knew no bounds. With- 
out any doubt I had made some decided 
changes in the appearance of things. There 
was the rubber plant, the Mexican work, 
intermixed with my own handiwork, and 
there were the scrolls and conventional 
designs on the table and sideboard to bear 
mute witness against me. Besides, there 
was Bridget’s upset condition, and last, but 
by no means least, there was Master’s 

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POLLY 


’cello. A decision was quickly reached, — 
I was to be banished. 

There was one thing Bridget did not 
tell when she related my adventures ; 
namely, that she herself had gone out and 
left me alone. I might have turned tattle- 
tale, but it was far beneath my dignity, 
and without a murmur I meekly accepted 
my fate. As to the ruin , I think it was 
simply a matter of opinion. For my part, 
I considered the changes I had made, espe- 
cially those in the dining-room, a great 
improvement. But I couldn’t seem to 
make Mistress look at it in the same light. 
It is true, as Yoppy has already said, 
“ The more you do for some folks, the less 
you are appreciated.” 

The day following my escapade, Mr. 

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POLLY 


Herbert came to take his lesson. When 
the lesson was over, Master invited him to 
see my work. Pointing to the rubber plant 
and the various places where I had left 
tracks of my visit, Master said: “Do you 
want an animal in your house that gets 
into so much mischief? ” 

Mr. Herbert laughed. Oh, how he 
laughed! It was good to hear him and 
know that some one appreciated my efforts. 

“ You’re all right, Polly,” said he. 
“ You did a good piece of work that time. 
Yes, Mr. Arthur,” he said, turning to 
Master, “ I want her more than ever. We 
have one mischievous imp already, and 
might as well have another. They will 
keep each other company.” 

Thus I became the pet of Master Her- 

140 


POLLY 


bert, and without a word of consultation 
with me. It was cruel, to say the least. 
But it might be much worse. I would be 
with Master Herbert, and that was more 
of a consolation than Master Arthur imag- 
ined. When Mr. Herbert left that day, 
he carried his ’cello under one arm, and 
me in my cage under the other. As we 
were passing the open window, I heard 
Mistress Arthur say: “Now, Clarence, I 
want you to sit down at once and write to 
your brother Sydney, and implore him 
never to bring us any more wild animals 
from South America.” That was the last 
time I ever heard her voice. I had taken 
final leave of the house of Arthur, to make 
my future home in the town of Dingle- 
berry. 

141 


POLLY 


It seemed like fate that Yoppy and I, 
who had despised each other so thoroughly, 
should be thrown together again, and once 
more become members of the same house- 
hold. I was disgusted on my arrival to 
find that little grinning face before me 
again. I knew Master Herbert had taken 
him away, but I had not realized that we 
were again to be members of the same 
family. 

I was about to give every one a piece of 
my mind, when what do you think? In- 
stead of showing his teeth at sight of me, 
Yoppy gave such a joyous scream of rec- 
ognition that my anger died within me. 
I hadn’t the heart to say a single spiteful 
word, but called out in friendship: “Hello, 
Yoppy! Hello, Yoppy!” 


142 


POLLY 


Yoppy couldn’t talk, — at least, not in 
human language. But, from the tones of 
his voice, it was easy to see that he tried 
to tell me he was glad I had come. As he 
came toward my cage, smacking his lips 
in his funny little way, I really think he 
wanted to kiss me. Not to be outdone by 
a monkey in graciousness, I felt that I, 
too, must make a friendly advance, but 
when I offered to return his salute, he 
backed away from my cage, at the same 
time making a funny little noise and rub- 
bing his arm in a significant manner. I 
had thought it strange that Yoppy had for- 
gotten our last meeting, but evidently he 
still remembered it. 

It had been my intention to just nip the 
end of his finger in the most friendly fash- 
143 


POLLY 


ion, but, as he had not forgotten that other 
nip, which was not at all gentle, it was use- 
less to make further advances. I was cer- 
tain I should never dislike Yoppy again, 
but for a long time I could not get near 
him. Whenever I tried, he would edge 
away from me with a rather frightened 
look on his face, and rubbing the scar on 
his arm. 

The night of my arrival I heard my new 
master call: “ Mollie, come down. I’ve got 
something for you.” 

I heard a scurrying of feet overhead, 
then on the stairs, and in a moment my 
new mistress appeared. Master turned a 
radiant face toward her as she entered the 
room. “ There,” he said. “ You have been 


144 


POLLY 


wishing for a parrot, and at last you have 
one.” 

The next instant she threw her arms 
around Master’s neck, thanking him again 
and again. Then she turned to me. It 
was quite evident I was not to have first 
place in her affection, even though she 
called me a beautiful creature and a dar- 
ling bird. Well, I don’t blame her. I was 
quite in love with Master myself. As for 
my new mistress, it remained to be seen 
whether or not she would be worthy of her 
pet, but I should never love her as I did 
Master Herbert. 


145 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE PETS’ CORNER 

The morning following my arrival, I 
found that Yoppy and I were not the only 
pets in the House of Herbert. There was 
Freddie, a thoroughbred brown field-span- 
iel, Dickey, a sweet-voiced canary, whose 
cage hung in the dining-room, and the 
cats. Pauline was a fine gray and white 
creature, that is, for a cat; Cornelia, her 
twin sister, was not a bit like her in dis- 
position, although, as far as feline appear- 
ance goes, she was just as good looking. 

The shelf, on which my cage was placed, 

146 


POLLY 


was in a cosy corner built in an alcove 
of one corner of the kitchen, and was built 
especially for the benefit of the household 
pets. There was just room enough on 
either side of the window for Yoppy’s cage 
and mine. The shelf was so built that we 
could remain in the shade or the sunshine 
at will. Under our shelf was a sort of 
bunk, built much like those used on board 
ship, and in it were several cushions and 
a covering of denim. This was known as 
the cats’ quarters, and here several cats 
might find plenty of room in which to take 
solid comfort. 

Yoppy had a new cage, which was a 
great improvement over the old one. It 
was so made that Mistress could easily take 
it apart, and each morning she would give 
147 


POLLY 


it a thorough scouring; and Yoppy, there- 
fore, was kept much neater and cleaner 
than he ever could be in his old cage. He 
liked the arrangement, too, the little rascal. 
When I asked him about the cage, he told 
me “ Ecum ” had made it. I found 
“ Ecum ” was the name he called Master. 
It had a funny sound, but I liked it, and 
learned to speak it with even more glibness 
than Yoppy could ever acquire. 

Freddie also had his bed in the pets’ 
corner. It was a neat little crib made from 
a box, to which Master had nailed four 
stout legs. It had a little mattress in it, 
and coverings of denim, which were 
changed and washed every week. Yoppy 
told me that everything Mistress had any- 
thing to do with had to be scrubbed. Poor 

148 


POLLY 


Yoppy, he had his trials every morning. 
It was funny to see the little black face 
turned first to one side then to the other, 
as Mistress applied the sponge, and later 
wiped him dry with a towel. Sometimes 
he would get frisky, and nearly upset the 
basin of water. Once he succeeded, and 
spilled the water all over the cats in the 
bunk below. After that, whenever Yoppy 
began to get gay, she would set the basin 
out of his reach. 

I told Yoppy that, although everything 
else had its regular washing, there was one 
thing in the house that wouldn’t be 
scrubbed. I intended to have nothing like 
that happen to me. It is a parrot’s habit 
to clean himself in gravel, but I was not 
even particular about that. Mistress 
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POLLY 


wouldn’t believe it, however, and one day, 
greatly to my astonishment and disgust, 
she took the bottom from my cage and car- 
ried the cage to the wash-tub, where she 
sprinkled my beautiful feathers with warm 
water. I remonstrated, but it was no use. 
She kept right on sprinkling me, regard- 
less of my indignant outcries. Such au- 
dacity as that woman had! Really I was 
obliged to work half the morning getting 
my feathers back in place. The worst of 
it is that I am obliged to submit to this 
cleansing process at least once a week. 
When I complained of the harsh treatment 
to Yoppy, he said, “ I knew she’d do it,” 
and that was all the consolation I ever got 
from him. 

There was another pet in the household, 

150 


POLLY 


but she did not belong in our corner. This 
was Master and Mistress’s little daughter, 
a dear little girl, with blue eyes and sunny 
hair. Yoppy worshipped her, so did Fred- 
die and the cats. As for Master, she was 
the pride of his heart. I had been in the 
house less than a week when I allowed her to 
scratch my head, and soon I was not afraid 
to get on her finger and allow her to carry 
me about. I quickly learned her name, 
and she never tired of playing with me 
or hearing me call her. “ Hello, Mar- 
garet! Hello, Margaret! ” I used to shout. 
We were great friends. 

I shall never forget my impressions of 
“ Nana,” little Missie’s grandmother, the 
morning after my arrival, when she first 
saw me. “ I shall have nothing to do with 
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POLLY 


it, ,? she said, meaning me. But afterward, 
when no one was looking, she stuffed me 
with pop-corn and peanuts. Yoppy said 
that was always the way with Nana. 

I was greatly surprised a few days after 
coming to my new home, to see Pauline 
jump on to the shelf and, after stretching 
herself, lie down beside Yoppy ’s cage, 
uttering a soft, low “ Pr-r-r, meow, pr-r-r, 
meow.” Immediately Yoppy answered her 
in his funny little way, and hastened from 
his cage, where he had been eating his 
luncheon, to Pauline, or Polly, as she was 
sometimes called, and snuggled down beside 
her, letting her rub her nose all over his 
face. 

Yoppy chatted to her in his monkey 
fashion, as if he liked it. Then he in turn 

152 


POLLY 


would pat her and smack his lips at her, 
as though giving her a kiss. 

It was great fun to see Polly cat when 
I first arrived. She would look at me 
almost wild-eyed, when I began to talk. 
Evidently she had never seen a talking 
bird before. She was very much pleased, 
however, when I shouted, “ Pretty Polly! ” 
She thought, of course, that I meant her, 
when really I meant myself. On closer 
acquaintance, I learned that Polly cat was 
all Yoppy had represented her to be. 

She was very affectionate and altogether 
lovable, and never attempted to claw me, 
but that is more than I can say for Cor- 
nelia. She carried her head and tail in the 
air in such a queenly and conceited manner 
that you would think she was the only pet 
153 


POLLY 


in the house. She never seemed to tire of 
sniffing, and turning her nose up at every- 
thing she came across. The day after my 
arrival, she condescended to pay me a 
visit. 

I am not sure whether she intended mak- 
ing a friendly call or not; at any rate, she 
jumped upon our shelf, and in her nat- 
urally haughty manner began to sniff at 
the bars of my cage. I edged nearer to 
her, and when my head was within close 
range of her face, I gave vent to a perfect 
imitation of a Tom-cat yowl. It was so 
sudden and unexpected that her Royal 
Highness lost her balance, fell over back- 
wards, and sprawled headlong on the 
floor. 

I looked down on her, calling “ Pretty 

154 


POLLY 


Polly! Pretty Polly!” while she retired 
to the farthest corner to straighten out her 
ruffled fur, glancing at me all the time out 
of a very angry pair of eyes. 


155 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XV. 

PIES, PUDDING, AND FLOUR 

I always blamed Master for the scrape 
that Yoppy and I got into that day. Yes, 
I am absolutely certain that if he hadn’t 
got us excited over the telephone, we would 
never have thought of doing what we did. 
In the first place, Master had “ the ’phone ” 
put in. It was a queer-looking arrange- 
ment, and Yoppy and I were greatly in- 
terested while the men were getting it in 
order. We had heard Master telling Mis- 
tress how convenient it would be to have 
one in the house, and how many steps it 

156 


POLLY 


would save. Master was always planning 
things to save Mistress work. When every- 
thing was in readiness, one of the work- 
men rang a bell near the telephone, then 
he put something up to his ear and placed 
his mouth near a round black hole in the 
other part of the machine that stood on the 
shelf. 

“ Hello, Central,” said the man, and 
then “All right!” As soon as everything 
was declared ready, Master went through 
the same performance the other man had 
gone through, only instead of calling, 
“Hello, Central!” he said, “Give me 
148-4.” Yoppy and I were nearly wild 
with curiosity. Was our master crazy, 
talking into that hole in the wall? What 
did it all mean? Who was he talking to? 
157 


POLLY 


“ Is that you, Harry? ” he said. “ All 
right, let me speak to Teddy.” 

How Harry and Teddy could ever have 
squeezed into that place was something 
I could not understand. There was one 
thing about it, if they were in there, it 
must have been pretty close quarters. It 
was surely puzzling. I even knew by the 
expression in Freddie’s eyes, and he was 
supposed to be a perfect embodiment of 
intelligence, that he thought something was 
sadly wrong. 

“ Hello, Teddy,” again called Master. 
“Yes, I want you to talk to Yoppy, just 
to see if he will recognize your voice.” 

Just then Mistress came into the room. 

“ Is it all ready? ” she asked, looking 
very interested. 


158 


POLLY 


“ All ready,” answered Master, “ and I 
wish you would bring Yoppy here. I want 
to hear him talk to Teddy.” 

Yoppy was taken to the shelf where the 
wonderful instrument was, while I watched 
the proceedings with the deepest interest. 
Yoppy was so excited that he jumped and 
hopped around, doing everything but keep 
still as his master told him to. At last 
Master spoke quite sharply, which never 
failed to quiet him. 

“ Now, Yoppy, let Ecum fix it,” said 
he. The monkey uttered a queer little 
squeak when Master placed what he called 
the receiver to Yoppy’s ear. “ Are you 
there, Teddy? All right, then, go ahead.” 
The next instant Yoppy nearly stood on 
his head, as he yanked the receiver from 
159 


POLLY 


his ear and looked into it. Then he looked 
at Master, evidently begging for an ex- 
planation. With a prolonged “ Tute-tee- 
tu-tute, tee-um,” and a funny little “ Oo, 
oo, oo, ee, ee, ee, ee,” he tried to talk into 
the receiver. 

“ Here’s the place to do your talking, 
Yoppy,” said Master, placing the receiver 
once more to Yoppy ’s ear and turning his 
head so that his mouth was once more 
opposite the other part of the machine. 
“ There, now speak to Teddy.” 

But Yoppy didn’t know enough to do 
as Master wished, and instead of talking 
he insisted on sticking his fingers into the 
receiver. 

“ Why, Yoppy, Teddy isn’t in that 
hole,” said Master, laughing, and when 

160 


POLLY 


Teddy’s voice sounded again, Yoppy gave 
a jump which nearly landed him on the 
floor. 

All this time Mistress had been looking 
on; holding her sides with laughter, while 
I, from my point of observation, could see 
nothing but two people making fools of 
themselves over a monkey and a telephone. 

It was evident Yoppy wanted to see 
more of the machine, and know the mean- 
ing of it. It was pathetic to see him hold 
his master’s fingers, when he was brought 
back to the shelf, begging him as plainly 
as could be for an explanation. 

“ Ecum can’t do it, little boy,” said Mas- 
ter, as he held both of Yoppy’s hands. 
“ No, Ecum can’t make you understand, 
but I wish I could, Yoppy.” There was 

161 


POLLY 


genuine regret in Master’s voice as he said 
this, and I know he thought what a pity 
it is that animals can’t talk. 

Before Master went away, I heard him 
tell Mistress that he would ring her up 
when he arrived at the shop, and she could 
then see what Polly thought of it. In a 
short time I heard the bell ring, and Mis- 
tress answered, holding the receiver to her 
ear. “ Hello,” she said. “ Yes, I’ll bring 
her.” Then she took me from my cage, 
saying as she carried me to the mysterious 
’phone, “ Now, Polly, it’s your turn.” 
Standing on the shelf beside the machine 
which had caused so much excitement, I 
waited while Mistress put the receiver near 
the side of my head. What was my sur- 
prise to hear Master, and, thinking he was 

162 


POLLY 


in the kitchen, I looked around. “ Hello, 
Polly,” came the voice again. “ Hello, 
Polly! ” 

I was utterly dumfounded, for sure 
enough, his voice came from inside that 
receiver. How had he been able to get 
in that small place, and how could Teddy 
and Harry be there, too? Why, to be sure, 
they had all three gone around and crawled 
into the other end, wherever that might be. 
I knew they were there, and could hear 
them laugh when I answered: “Hello, 
Polly. Pretty Polly. Ecum, Ecum, Polly 
wants her head scratched.” 

Yes, it was quite plain that in some way 
Master had crawled inside, and was prob- 
ably taking up the biggest part of the 
room. But how he could speak to me 
163 


POLLY 


through a cord was a mystery I have never 
been able to understand. 

When the excitement was over, Mistress 
carried me back to my cage, and started 
to do some cooking. She had forgotten 
to secure Yoppy’s chain, and the rascal, 
who had more sense than one would have 
given him credit for, took good care that 
the omission was not discovered. It had 
been some time since Yoppy had had his 
liberty, and I imagine it was with great 
difficulty that he kept from betraying him- 
self. I could see he was just longing to 
help Mistress with her pies. 

However, he did manage to keep quiet 
until the pies and pudding were baked, and 
the door-bell rang. It was Miss Beatrice, 
I knew, for Mistress had said that she was 

164 


POLLY 


coming to dinner. Mistress went to the 
front of the house, and Yoppy and I were 
left alone in the kitchen. It was Maggie’s 
day to sweep, so there was no danger of 
any one bothering us or interfering in any 
way. If there were to be any bad results 
in the kitchen, I am sure you will agree 
with me that it was all owing to the excite- 
ment over the telephone, and the careless- 
ness of Mistress in not fastening the 
monkey. 

When the door closed behind her, I 
looked at Yoppy and laughed. He looked 
at me with a grin on his face and sprang 
to his feet. It had been a long time since 
he had been free, and it was to be expected 
that he would make the most of this oppor- 
tunity. I, too, ached to stretch my wings 
165 


POLLY 


and take a little exercise. Yoppy seemed 
to realize the fact, and came over to my 
cage. The catch on the door bothered him 
a little, but he had seen Master and Mis- 
tress open it often enough, so he soon had 
it unfastened. Out I came and flew across 
the kitchen. 

It was Thursday morning. It had been 
cloudy or rainy for three days, so Maggie 
had not washed all of the clothes. But 
to-day the sun had come out, and Maggie 
had declared her intention of putting out 
the remainder of the wash, while the dust 
was settling in the chambers after the 
sweeping. In order to save time, she had 
made the starch and placed it on the table 
to cool. This table Yoppy made his first 
stopping-place. 


166 


POLLY 


I looked about, and saw on another 
table the pies and pudding Mistress had 
made. I flew to them. How good the 
pies looked! How beautifully brown! I 
was exceedingly fond of pastry and sweet 
things, but Mistress had read in a book that 
sweets were not good for parrots. “ What 
do I care for books? ” I thought. “I’ll 
just help myself. I may never get an- 
other chance.” 

I was just trying to make up my mind 
whether I should begin on the pudding or 
the pies when I heard a great splash and 
the ring of a tin pan. I turned my head 
quickly, and saw Yoppy sitting on the 
edge of the table, in his hands holding the 
pan in which Maggie had left the starch. 
The starch, however, was all on the floor, 
167 


POLLY 


spreading itself out in a broad lake. 
“Gracious!” I said to myself. “ Maggie 
will be pleased when she sees what has 
become of the starch.” Yoppy made a 
funny little noise to attract my attention, 
and pointed to the broadening puddle on 
the floor. 

“ Ha, ha, ha! ” I laughed. “ Oh, Yoppy, 
what a rascal! What a rascal! What a 
funny bird you are!” 

He answered with a grin, and instead of 
throwing the pan on the floor, as I thought 
he would do, he carefully pulled it farther 
on the table, turned it upside down, and 
began to drum on it with his hands and 
feet. “ You’ll get it, you’ll get it, you’ll 
get it! ” I cried, and then turned my atten- 
tion to the task before me. I began by 

168 


POLLY 


eating off the edge of a pie. When I 
walked across it, my claws sank in, and, 
finding the inside pretty warm, I drew out 
my feet and contented myself with eating 
the crust. Once I took a little bite of the 
filling, but no more. It was still hot and 
I burnt my tongue. 

Just then I heard a queer little noise 
from the work-bench. There was Yoppy, 
sitting on the top shelf over the bench, his 
heels dangling down, and in his lap he held 
a box of plant food. This was black and 
crumbly, and looked as if it were made 
from the black cinders with which the 
Dingleberry sidewalks are covered. You 
might think it anything but agreeable to 
have this mixed up with cooking utensils, 
but this did not bother Yoppy in the least. 
169 


POLLY 


Indeed, he was in the highest spirits, as 
handful after handful of the nasty stuff 
went into the air, covering everything 
within reach. The dust flew all over the 
kitchen, even penetrating my nostrils and 
making me sneeze. 

When Yoppy had scattered all the plant 
food, he crawled over kettles, pans, steam- 
ers, and colanders, being careful to keep 
his chain well coiled around his arm, so it 
should not catch on anything. It is won- 
derful how much intelligence Yoppy dis- 
played in the care he took to avoid noise. 
He knew very well that noises brought in- 
quisitive persons, and, deciding to make the 
most of his holiday, he was as quiet as pos- 
sible. How he did go from one thing to 
another pulling corks from bottles, up- 

170 


POLLY 


setting pasteboard packages, spilling tapi- 
oca and corn-starch, and once he opened a 
box filled with pepper. The cover did not 
come off easily, so he held the box between 
his knees, and with both hands pulled and 
strained until, with a jerk, the cover came 
off. Of course the pepper flew, and Mas- 
ter Yoppy had a sneezing affair of his 
own. 

Away he went rummaging for more 
trouble. A box of dry hops was treated 
in the same manner he had treated the 
plant food. For fully ten minutes there 
was a shower of hops. It flew over every- 
thing and up Yoppy ’s nose, causing an- 
other sneezing fit, but it made no difference 
to him; he kept right on. When the box 
was quite empty, he came down from his 
171 


POLLY 


lofty perch. On the table stood the mo- 
lasses jug, which the grocery man had 
brought that morning from the store; a 
bag of meal lay beside it. Suddenly the 
stopper came out, and Yoppy had the jug 
on its side. Out flowed the golden-brown 
syrup, much to Yoppy ’s delight. At first 
it came slowly, then faster and faster, while 
Yoppy chuckled gleefully and licked the 
molasses as it spread over the work-bench, 
one stream running down the bench, while 
the other, running through a large square 
opening, flowed into a flour barrel under 
the bench. 

There was a pretty red and white table- 
cover lying on the back part of the bench. 
Probably at some time Yoppy had seen 
Mistress wipe the table with a cloth. Per- 

172 


POLLY 


haps Yoppy wanted to imitate her, or 
perhaps he thought there was too much 
molasses left on the bench and too little in 
the flour barrel. Anyway, he pulled out 
the table-cover and attempted to wipe up 
the molasses, making the mess much worse 
than it was before. To make a bad mat- 
ter worse, he slipped in the molasses, land- 
ing on his back; he rolled on his side, and 
in his frantic endeavour to regain his foot- 
ing became completely besmeared with the 
sticky stuff. 

Yoppy’s next move was very sudden and 
unexpected, although I might have known 
what it would be. Into the flour barrel 
he went. 

I went about my business in my own 
dignified way, but from the depths of the 
173 


POLLY 


flour barrel came cries of delight, accom- 
panied by handful after handful of flour, 
which reminded me of spray flying into 
the air after dashing on the rocks of some 
rocky coast. 


174 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XVI. 

RESULTS 

Haying finished nibbling the pie-crust 
and the pudding, I turned my attention to 
the bag of meal, which had been brought 
with the molasses. I was not in an espe- 
cially mischievous mood that morning, al- 
though I must confess that I had been 
quite willing to combine my forces with 
Yoppy. But I soon discovered that his 
spirit of destructiveness was far greater 
than mine. The extent of harm which I 
did, therefore, was small indeed compared 
175 


POLLY 


to what my friend Yoppy had planned and 
executed. 

All I had done was to disfigure the pies 
and skim the brown crust from the pud- 
ding, but the latter, of course, would save 
labour at the time of serving. I believe, 
too, that I did chew the edge of the win- 
dow-sill and the edge of the side table. I 
had also done a bit of carving on the door 
of the kitchen cabinet, and let me see, — 
oh, yes, I did tear up Mistress’s favourite 
recipe book and tried to pull the stopper 
from a bottle of pepper sauce. The stopper 
did not yield readily to my beak, and, be- 
coming somewhat ruffled, I threw the bot- 
tle on the floor. Did it break? Why, cer- 
tainly. Did you ever know a bottle to 
fall on the floor and not break? If I re- 

176 


POLLY 


member correctly, I also bit some holes in 
a number of paper bags containing sugar, 
rye meal, tapioca, sago, and a lot of other 
things. I also chewed the side from a box 
of rolled oats. I could see no reason why 
the different articles which these bags con- 
tained should run out and get mixed up 
simply because I had bitten a few air-holes 
in them. If Maggie had not been in such 
a hurry that morning, and had closed the 
door in the kitchen cabinet as she should 
have, I would have been unable to get hold 
of the bags. I hope it taught Maggie a 
lesson that “ haste makes waste.” 

I had torn several holes in a package of 
Indian meal and was sitting on the bag 
watching the pretty yellow stream as it 
ran to the floor, forming there a golden 
177 


POLLY 


heap, in the meantime meditating whether 
it were best to get down on the floor 
and cleanse my feathers in the meal, or 
stay where I was, when I heard voices 
in the sitting-room. It was not often that 
Mistress used the sitting-room so early in 
the forenoon, the greater part of the morn- 
ing being spent in her study. But to-day 
her usual plans were a little upset. Her 
friend Miss Beatrice had come to dinner, 
and, by the way, that was the reason why 
Mistress had made two kinds of dessert. 
We never had but one kind when we were 
alone. Mistress, as usual, was talking so 
fast that I am sure Miss Beatrice had no 
chance even to get a word in. After try- 
ing in vain to understand what was being 


178 


POLLY 


said, I gave up in disgust, and turned my 
whole attention to the Indian meal. 

Presently I heard Maggie’s footsteps on 
the stairs. Down she came, clatter, clat- 
ter, clatter. There was much work to be 
done that morning, and she hurried around, 
which, of course, was directly responsible 
for what happened. She rushed into the 
kitchen without stopping long enough to 
see where she was going. Her foot 
touched the puddle of corn-starch. It was 
all so sudden and so wholly unexpected 
that even Yoppy was surprised at the re- 
sult. Away flew the feather-duster into 
one corner, while the hand that had held 
it frantically clutched at the air. With one 
foot she seemed to be trying to kick the 
ceiling, and with the other she skated across 
179 


POLLY 


the puddle, landing on the floor in a tangle 
of brooms, brushes, and carpet-sweeper. 
There she lay, a most unhappy victim of 
that rascal Yoppy’s mischievous pranks. 

It would be utterly impossible for even 
me, as good a mimic as I am, to describe 
the sounds that then came forth, as Maggie 
tried to arise and extricate herself from the 
wreck. I am not sure but she might still 
be there to-day groaning on the floor had 
not Mistress, hearing the strange and aw- 
ful sounds, hastened into the room. 

I think it was very impolite of Mistress, 
for when she opened the kitchen door and 
saw Maggie’s plight, she could do nothing 
for a minute but howl with delight. “ Oh, 
my poor Maggie!” exclaimed Mistress, 


180 


POLLY 


when she was able to control herself. 
“ Are you hurt, my poor girl? ” 

Maggie was fond of Mistress, and the 
sympathetic tone seemed to soothe her ruf- 
fled spirits, as slowly, with Mistress’s help, 
she drew herself from the tangle of brooms 
and brushes, and on her hands and knees 
crawled to a dry place. Sitting on the 
floor, she began wailing : “ Oh, oh, oh, me 
back is broke entoirely, and me brains are 
all knocked out o’ me! ” 

“ I beg your pardon for laughing, Mag- 
gie,” said Mistress, “ but really I could not 
help it.” 

“ ’Deed, an’ you’re excused, mum,” an- 
swered Maggie, still rubbing her back. 
“ An’ Oi know very well Oi made a picter 
of meself, but I didn’t feel much like 
181 


POLLY 


laughin’ meself, an’ there with me starch 
all spilled.” 

“ Oh, never mind the starch. Run up 
to your room and change your clothes, and 
I will make some more and will clean up 
this mess. It is plain to see my pets have 
taken advantage of our absence.” 

Apparently more dead than alive, Mag- 
gie limped toward the back stairs, while 
Mistress went off in another convulsion of 
laughter. When she recovered from her 
second attack, she called Miss Beatrice, 
and, after telling about Maggie’s accident, 
they both laughed until the tears came. 
“ But how did the starch get on the floor? ” 
inquired Miss Beatrice. 

“ My dear,” answered Mistress, “ it is 


182 


POLLY 


plainly seen that you are not accustomed 
to the ways of monkeys.” 

“Yoppy! Did he do all that?” ex- 
claimed Miss Beatrice. 

“Yes, dear, and probably more,” an- 
swered Mistress, beginning a tour of in- 
spection. 

“ I wonder where the little scamp is,” 
she exclaimed, in anxious tones, as every 
minute she made some new discovery. “ Oh, 
I hope he hasn’t got away. I should feel 
dreadfully to lose him again.” Just then 
she discovered me and the meal bag, and 
you may be sure there were more exclama- 
tions and more discoveries. 

Drawing near the work-bench she saw 
the havoc which Yoppy had made. “ Oh, 
oh, oh, Beatrice! Do come here. Just 
183 


POLLY 


look at my precious work-bench. Look at 
the molasses and the plant food and the 
hops all over everything. And where can 
that little rascal be? ” 

A joyous scream came from the depths 
of the flour barrel. Out came a handful 
of flour which struck Miss Beatrice squarely 
in the face, and next, like a Jack-in-the- 
box, up popped Yoppy. Such a looking 
monkey as he was, — first rolled in mo- 
lasses and then dipped in flour. 

In open-mouthed amazement Mistress 
gazed at the flour-bedaubed imp. It was 
one of the few times I knew when words 
failed to express her feelings. Her laugh 
rang through the kitchen, and for the time 
being Yoppy was master of the situation. 
Of course, there was general cleaning 

184 


POLLY 


up, Yoppy included. He didn’t like it a 
bit when Mistress put him to soak in the 
wash-tub, but that made no difference. In 
he went all the same. After awhile Miss 
Beatrice said: “I think, Mrs. Herbert, 
that, under the circumstances, I had better 
not stay to dinner to-day. Perhaps some 
other day, I — ” 

“ Why, my dear girl,” interrupted Mis- 
tress, “ a trifling circumstance like this 
won’t allow me to send you home without 
dinner. I should be greatly disappointed 
if you did not stay, and, as a special induce- 
ment, I want to tell you that I have made 
one of your favourite tapioca puddings 
and some pies from the black snaps that I 
gathered with my own hands last summer. 
Now come and see for yourself. I am 
185 


POLLY 


sure you will be tempted to stay at sight 
of my cooking.” 

“ But I really ought not to yield 
to temptation,” persisted Miss Beatrice. 
“You are very kind, but — ” 

“ I won’t have any huts in the matter. 
Just come and see the delicious pies I have 
baked.” So saying, Mistress put her arm 
around Miss Beatrice’s waist, and drew her 
toward the kitchen cabinet, where she had 
placed the two kinds of dessert. 

“ Now I’ll catch it,” I thought. The 
next moment all was discovered. Mistress 
did not laugh this time, but turned to 
Miss Beatrice, and, with a dramatic wave 
of her hand, said: “There, my dear, are 
the pies and pudding I made especially for 


186 



helpii^s °J t£i 


had 


four 


nly 


o 


e 





POLLY 


you, and that miserable parrot or Yoppy 
has ruined both.” 

I thought Mistress was mighty fussy 
over her old dessert, for I had only 
“ skinned ” the pudding, and had only four 
helpings of the pies, so there was plenty 
for every one else. But, dear me, you 
could never make Mistress think so. And 
would you believe she could be so incon- 
sistent? After having urged Miss Beatrice 
to stay to dinner, she now said to her: “ I 
think, my dear, all things considered, that 
if you want anything to eat, you would 
fare better if you came some other day. 
However, you are quite welcome to what 
there is left.” 

Perhaps it was through the perversity of 
human nature, anyway Miss Beatrice in 
187 


POLLY 


her turn refused to go, and declared she 
would stay to dinner whether there was 
anything to eat or not. And they both had 
a merry time of it in the end. Poor little 
Yoppy and I, though, were taken prisoners 
once more, and it was a long, long time 
before we had another opportunity to in- 
dulge in such a morning’s escapade. 


188 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XVII. 

ON THE VERANDA 

We spent the summer at the seashore, 
and, much to the regret of all con- 
cerned, the season was drawing to a close. 
Already Mistress was packing boxes and 
trunks preparatory to our return to town. 
The entire summer had been like a long 
and beautiful dream to Yoppy and me. 
I especially had enjoyed myself, for here 
I had found much gratification in meeting 
so many visitors and listening to their 
praise and admiration of me. 

It was always a mystery to me that 

189 


POLLY 


Yoppy thought so little of his own appear- 
ance. It might have been because he was 
so hopelessly homely that he thought any 
change he could make would matter little. 
It was not as if he did not know how he 
looked, for when Master had given him a 
mirror, so that he might see his own reflec- 
tion, the little goose seemed perfectly de- 
lighted with himself, and it always ap- 
peared as if he never realized what a 
homely little thing he really was. 

Whenever we had callers, he never tried 
to put on a good appearance, but just 
grinned good-naturedly and invariably be- 
gan to cut capers for the amusement of 
our guests. In this way he always came in 
for a share of attention. As for me, I 
never descended to such idiotic nonsense, 

190 


POLLY 


but whenever I had visitors, I used to talk 
and strut about, often spreading my wings 
and my tail in order to display my beauti- 
ful yellow, red, and blue feathers. I was 
always rewarded with words of praise and 
admiration, and my heart would swell with 
pride. 

I grew fat on the compliments and pea- 
nuts that I received from the summer vis- 
itors. But whenever any one said to me, 
“ Polly want a cracker? ” and I gave the 
answer I had been taught, I was always 
punished by being taken into the house, 
and my cage was covered with a black 
cloth. After awhile, however, I learned 
that certain expressions of mine brought 
forth darkness and punishment, and finally 


191 


POLLY 


I realized it was best for me not to use 
any profanity, as Mistress calls it. 

My songs, however, were always greeted 
with much applause, and during the time 
at the seashore Master taught me one from 
“ Pinafore.” On moonlight evenings he 
would take me out of my cage, and we 
would walk back and forth on the veranda, 
and it was there he taught me my new 
song. I never knew whether it was the 
effect of the moonlight or the sound of the 
waves breaking on the shore, but I would 
fancy myself back again on board ship, 
and again my old sweetheart was with me. 

When I had learned every word of the 
“ Pinafore ” song, I used to sing it with 
such a relish that every one delighted in 
hearing what Master called my “ star per- 

192 


POLLY 


formance.” I am sure that if Yoppy had 
not been a silly little goose, he would have 
envied me. But instead of turning envi- 
ous, he began to admire me himself, and 
was as much pleased to hear me sing as 
any one. And he never seemed to think I 
was taking all the admiration and giving 
people no time to pay attention to him. 

It was so quiet after our return to town 
that I absolutely longed for the sound of 
the sea and the many summer visitors. I 
fussed and fretted until at last Master hung 
my cage out-of-doors. There was a very 
pleasant view from our veranda, and within 
a short distance from our house there was 
a beautiful hill covered with thick, heavy 
trees. I never tired of gazing at Harrison 
Hill, and longed to fly across and explore 
103 


POLLY 


the woodland. One night early in Sep- 
tember, Jack Frost paid a visit to the 
woods and left his tracks on the maple- 
trees that grew here and there among the 
evergreens. It was a beautiful sight, and 
I longed more than ever to fly across the 
fields and explore the woods. 

Near to, however, there was much life, 
and I was by no means unhappy. From 
the veranda I could see all the passing-by. 
Sometimes I would cluck to the grocer’s 
horse who stood patiently waiting for his 
master’s return from the kitchen. When- 
ever I succeeded in starting him, I would 
chuckle to myself and then shout, “ Whoa 
there! whoa!” and he would stop instantly. 
Sometimes I would start him the second 
time by calling, — I had learned from hear- 

194 


POLLY 


ing the grocery man, — “Get ep, there! 
Whatcher bawt!” This never failed to 
send the stupid old horse on “a jog trot ” 
down the street, regardless of the where- 
abouts of his driver. 

Sometimes I used to whistle to the mail- 
carrier, and would bring him back to the 
house, only to laugh and chuckle at him. 
But he never seemed to appreciate the joke. 
The most fun I had, however, was whis- 
tling after the trolley-car. The electric 
road passed the corner of our street. Twice 
I stopped the car, and I suppose I could 
have done it again and again had it not 
been that a man who was passing our house 
as I was whistling to the car to stop, made 
a motion to the motor-man and pointed to 
my cage. The car started up, and I was 
195 


POLLY 


never able to play the trick on that motor- 
man again. Others came, however, until 
finally all the railway employees seemed 
to know me and paid no attention to my 
repeated whistling. 

The days grew colder, and at last too 
cold for me to be left out-of-doors, and 
my cage went back to the pets’ corner, 
where, with Yoppy and the cats, I spent 
the winter longing for the sunny summer 
days to come again. 


196 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XVin. 

AWAY TO HARRISON HILL 

Summer had come again and it was 
June, the month of roses and honeysuckles, 
and I was able once more to live out-of- 
doors. Again my cage could hang all day 
in the shadow of the vines, and I could 
look out over the fields waving with butter- 
cups and daisies. I could hear the native 
birds singing in the orchards and in the 
willows down by the brook, and the crickets 
chirping in the meadow and the bees buzz- 
ing around the flowers in our garden near 
197 


POLLY 


the veranda. My heart rejoiced in the 
beautiful long summer days. 

Instead of being contented with my lot, 
however, I longed to break the bars of my 
cage, spread my wings, and fly away across 
the fields. How I longed to visit and ex- 
plore the woods on Harrison Hill! What 
might I not discover in that beautiful shady 
woodland. Who knows but that there are 
other parrots there? I thought, as my long- 
ing eyes rested on a coveted spot, so near 
and yet so far out of my reach. For weeks 
I had been unusually restless, but I was not 
entirely lonely, as I had Yoppy with me, 
and a monkey is better than no company 
at all. 

I was sitting on my perch one day medi- 
tatively pruning my feathers, and wonder- 

198 


POLLY 


in g if there ever would be any new amuse- 
ment for me, and if perhaps we would not 
soon go to our summer home at the seaside, 
when suddenly there appeared before me in 
the street below the form of a man which 
was very familiar indeed. As he drew 
near, I screamed with joy, for I recog- 
nized Captain Hardy. 

“Hello, hello I” I sang out. The Cap- 
tain looked up and smiled, without dream- 
ing that I was one of his former crew. 

“Hello, Captain!” I said. 

“ Hello, Polly,” he answered, looking 
surprised, but there was no light of recog- 
nition in his eyes. Very well, if he had for- 
gotten me, I had not forgotten him, and 
would soon make him remember, although 


199 


POLLY 


he did not as much as stop to talk with 
me. 

“ Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy! Whar ye 
bound for? ” No answer, only a backward 
glance and a dignified smile. 

“ Ring the bell and call the watch. Head 
her straight ahead!” The Captain kept 
on. And, as he was turning the corner, I 
called out: 

“ Dash my toplights and shiver my timbers, 

If Captain Hardy ain’t gone on a bender! 

Head her straight ahead.” 


Like a flash, the Captain turned and came 
back to where I was. 

“ Hello, Captain. Hello, Captain,” I 
cried. 

“ Is it possible you remember me, 

200 


POLLY 


Polly?” said the Captain, as he bent his 
kindly eyes on me. 

“ Hello, Captain. Hello, Captain,” was 
all I could say, as I spread my wings and 
fluttered from one side of my perch to the 
other. 

“ Captain what, Polly? ” he asked. 

“ Captain what, Captain what,” I re- 
peated, too much delighted to know what 
I was saying. Then I shouted joyfully: 
“Captain Hardy! Captain Hardy!” and 
held my claw up to the opening between 
the wires of my cage. 

It was a trick My Sailor Jack had 
taught me, long ago, and many times had 
the Captain shaken hands with me. 

The Captain was deeply touched, and I 
really believe there were tears in his eyes. 

201 


POLLY 


Whether he was thinking of the William 
W. Crapo , or just glad that I had not for- 
gotten him, I cannot tell. Just then the 
vocabulary of the forecastle surged through 
my brain, and I poured it all out to the 
Captain. I was so glad to see him, I did 
not know what else to do. 

I might have known that would bring 
Mistress. It always seemed she was never 
out of ear-shot when I let loose the lan- 
guage I had learned on board ship. I 
stopped short in my recital when I heard 
her coming. And, abruptly changing, I 
began: “How de do, Captain, how de do. 
Glad to see you, Captain.” 

“ I am sorry to interfere w T ith Polly 
when she has company,” said Mistress, 
addressing the Captain. “ But when she is 

202 


POLLY 


naughty, I have to punish her, for I am 
trying to break her of swearing.” 

“ Probably, madam,” said the Captain, 
raising his hat politely, “ seeing me recalled 
Polly’s sailor days. Long ago Polly and 
I sailed on the same ship.” 

“Indeed!” said Mistress. “Are you 
Captain Hardy? My husband has heard 
much of you from Mr. Arthur, whose 
brother got Polly on board your ship.” 

Captain and Mistress sat down and had 
a chat, he telling her much about my earlier 
life. And once in awhile I would break in, 
I was so happy seeing the Captain once 
again. In the course of the conversation 
I learned that he had given up the sea and 
had settled in Dingleberry. 

This was the beginning of a very close 

203 


POLLY 


friendship between my master and mistress 
and Captain and Mrs. Hardy, and Mistress 
now thinks there is no one among her 
friends quite like the Captain and his 
wife. 

After the Captain went, I made a great 
fuss when left alone, so Mistress brought 
Yoppy and fastened his chain to a staple 
under the railing of the veranda. When 
we were alone, Yoppy crawled over near 
my cage and began to eat a peanut that 
he had brought with him. He was not in 
a very talkative mood that morning, so I 
tried to drag him into a conversation by 
saying: “ Yoppydil,” — that was a pet 
name Mistress often called him, — “Yop- 
pydil, did you ever think you would like 
to run away? ” 


204 


POLLY 


“ Not on your life,” he answered, em- 
phatically. “Why should I?” 

“ Oh, just for adventure,” I answered. 

“ Humph! ” said Yoppy, as he peeled the 
red skin off the peanut. For several mo- 
ments neither of us spoke. Presently he 
turned to me, and I think I never saw him 
look so solemn, as he said: “Look here, 
Polly Parrot, if you are pining to run 
away or fly away, give it up. Take my 
advice, and you will be better off.” 

“ Why, Mr. Wiseman? ” I asked. “ Did 
you ever run away? ” 

“ No, ma’am, not I. But I was carried 
off by an organ-grinder once, and a rough 
time I had of it before I got home again. 
And you can bet I will never run away of 
my own accord. I may not be as brilliant 
205 


POLLY 


as some creatures that I know, but I have 
common sense enough to realize when I am 
well off ” 

“ Queer you never told me anything 
about it,” I said. “ Let’s hear the story 
now.” 

“ It’s too long and too painful a story 
to tell. Get Mistress to read it to you. 
It’s all in my autobiography.” 

Just then a big bumblebee came buzzing 
around, and, quick as a flash, Yoppy 
sprang to my cage, pulled the door open, 
and jumped inside. 

Yoppy was afraid of bees and had been 
ever since an unpleasant experience he had 
with one. He used to delight in catching 
flies, but one day he carelessly laid his hand 
on a bee, thinking, little goose that he 

206 


POLLY 


was, that it was some kind of house 

fly- 

He put it in his mouth and very soon 
found his mistake. As to the little fool 
seeking refuge in my cage, why, a hundred 
bees might have walked through the wires 
and stung us to pieces, for all the protec- 
tion we could get from the cage. When 
the bee had flown away, Yoppy crept back 
to the railing and became absorbed in 
watching some ants crawling along the 
piazza. Dear Yoppy, he could easily un- 
fasten the door to my cage, but he would 
never think to fasten it again. 

“ I say, Yoppy, won’t you tell me that 
organ-grinder experience? ” I asked. 

“ Don’t talk about it,” he said, with a 
shudder. 

207 


POLLY 


“ Rather tough experience, was it? ” 

“ Rather is no name for it,’’ he answered 
again, still absorbed in watching the ants. 
“ Do let me alone, Polly. I am busy.” 

“ Oh, well, if you want to be disagree- 
able, you may,” I answered, loftily. “ And 
if I want to fly away, I shall. I shouldn’t 
expect to labour under such disadvantages 
as you did, for I have a tongue.” 

“ Sometimes a fellow may have too much 
tongue,” replied Yoppy, significantly. 

“ I have heard of such cases,” I an- 
swered, and then changed the subject. “ I 
say, Yoppy, did you ever go to Harrison 
Hill? ” 

“ Once. Ecum and Mistress took me up 
there, and we had a fine time.” 


208 


POLLY 


“ What is it like? ” I asked, with the 
utmost unconcern. 

“ Very much like the jungle, but not so 
big,” he answered. “ Why? ” 

“ I was just wondering. That’s all.” 

“ Oh! ” he said, still keeping his eyes on 
the ants. 

I could never understand why he had 
such a strange mania for watching insects. 
Once I heard Mistress tell some one that 
he would watch an ant-hill for hours with- 
out attempting to disturb them in any 
way, while he would kill spiders by the 
thousands, if he could get his hands on 
them. 

I was glad Yoppy was interested in nat- 
ural history, for it gave me an opportunity 
of carrying out the plan I had formed 
209 


POLLY 


since discovering my cage door was un- 
fastened. 

Very quietly I climbed down from my 
perch, pushed the door open, and in the 
next instant had flown to the trellis, and, 
with a loud shriek, I called: “ Oh, Yoppy, 
Yoppy, what a lobster! What a funny 
bird you are! ” And with this parting cry, 
I flew away toward the willows, with Yop- 
py’s squeaks and wails ringing in my ears. 
It was little I cared for his yelling. I was 
free at last, and I was determined to have 
a happy holiday. 


210 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XIX. 

FREEDOM 

It was with a feeling of supreme delight 
that I made my way across the fields to 
that much longed-for spot, Harrison Hill. 
How good it was to be free again, and 
roam once more in the woods! With what 
joy I shrieked and squawked until the 
woods fairly rang with the sound of my 
voice. Many times, as my cries rose and 
floated away, I thought I heard the voice 
of another parrot from the other side of 
the woods screaming to me. I laughed, 
and the other voice laughed too. When I 
211 


POLLY 


flew through the woods and called again, 
the other voice sounded as though it came 
from the place where I had started. I 
could not understand it at all. If there 
was another parrot in the woods, why did 
he not come where I was and get ac- 
quainted, instead of dodging me and mock- 
ing me in that impudent fashion? Finally 
I abandoned the search, and made up my 
mind that the other parrot might come 
where I was, if he wanted to see me. 

It was the first time in many years that 
I had enjoyed the freedom of the woods, 
and I resolved to make the most of my holi- 
day. I was disappointed to find no mon- 
keys or any of the other creatures that 
dwelt in my old home. But there were 
many small singing birds, all of whom 

212 


POLLY 


seemed frightened when I came near. Per- 
haps they took me for some kind of a hawk. 
It was such fun to have an abundance of 
green twigs to chew, and I spent a long 
time amusing myself in this way. I really 
had not enjoyed myself so much since the 
day I had clipped the rubber-tree. 

When evening came, I was at first unde- 
cided whether to go home or spend the 
night in the woods. From my perch in a 
tree-top I could look across the fields and 
see my home. I felt perfectly safe while 
the house was in sight, knowing well that, 
should any danger threaten, I could fly 
across from one tree to another, and easily 
reach safety with my master and mistress. 
Knowing this, I decided to spend the night 
on the hill, utterly regardless of the anxi- 
213 


POLLY 


ety my absence would cause the people at 
home. It would be such fun to roost in 
a tree-top, with the starry sky above me 
and the scent of the woods in the air. As 
the evening shades grew darker, I crawled 
into a secluded corner among the branches 
of a tall pine-tree. I had had an unusually 
pleasant day, but, with the excitement of 
flying away and that everlasting chase 
after the other parrot, who so cleverly 
eluded me, I was completely tired out. 

Just then I heard a cracking of twigs, 
and, peeping from my snug corner, I saw 
Master and Mistress trudging up over the 
steep incline, panting and nearly breath- 
less; when near to my hiding-place, I heard 
Mistress say, as she tried to catch her 
breath : “ My dear — I must — sit down, 

214 


POLLY 


I just can’t go — another step.” And she 
sat down directly under the tree where I 
was hiding. 

My first impulse was to call out, but I 
decided not to, fearing I should be caught 
and taken home before I had an oppor- 
tunity to spend a night in the woods. Be- 
sides, I didn’t want to go home until I 
was ready. They were both as anxious as 
they could be, they were so afraid I should 
suffer. And, oh, what would they do if I 
could not be found! Master did not say 
much, for Mistress, as usual, gave him no 
chance. But I knew from the anxious ex- 
pression on his face that he would give a 
great deal to have me at home again. 

“ Polly, Polly, Polly, Polly,” called 
Master, as he went peering among the 
215 


POLLY 


branches, and looking everywhere but in 
the right place. “ Well, it’s no use hang- 
ing around here,” said Master at last. 
“ You can come up to-morrow, and, if you 
dont find her then, I will put an ad. in 
the paper.” 

When Master and Mistress had gone, I 
flew to another tree. For some reason or 
other, I did not feel quite so frisky as I 
had, so I roosted on the branch of a tree 
near the border of the woods, where I could 
watch them as they went down the winding 
pathway. Why was it their coming had 
made the woods seem less attractive? Why 
did I want to fly back to them when I had 
already fully made up my mind to stay in 
the woods? 

I passed a comfortable night, however, 

216 




POLLY 


and started early in the morning to get my 
breakfast. It seemed like being back in the 
jungle again, though, finding no other par- 
rot, I had to take my breakfast alone. 
There were plenty of seeds on which I 
could feast, but there was no water nearer 
than the brook which ran through the fields. 
I did not care to venture forth so soon, 
and decided to go without water until later 
in the day, and in the meanwhile explore 
the depths of the woods. 

Early in the forenoon, Mistress came 
again to look for me. It was a warm 
morning, and when she reached the cool 
shades of the pines she was more out of 
breath than she had been the night before. 
The greater part of the forenoon she spent 
prowling around among the trees, calling 
217 


POLLY 


at intervals: “Polly! Polly! Pretty Poll, 
come to Missey! ” As no Polly deigned to 
make reply, she went back again, looking 
so tired and discouraged that my conscience 
smote me, and had it not been that the 
spirit of adventure was upon me, I should 
have flown after her at once. It would 
have driven away her troubles, and mine, 
too, for that matter. 

When she was well out of sight, I de- 
cided to make my way down and get some 
water. The brook was about half-way be- 
tween our house and Harrison Hill, so 
down I went flying from one tree to an- 
other and reaching the willows in safety. 
I went to the water’s edge and began to 
drink. Oh, how good and refreshing that 
water felt! I decided to drink enough to 

218 


POLLY 


last me all day, for as yet I had no idea 
of going home. I had dipped my beak 
in the water for the last time, when I heard 
voices near me. “Oh, Billy, look, look!” 
“ Look at what? ” answered Billy. 

“ The green pigeon down by the brook. 
Look at him drinkin’ ! ” 

“ That ain’t a pigeon,” answered Billy, 
in tones of disgust. “ That’s a parrit. 
Don’t you know a parrit when you see one? 
Oh, let’s catch him,” was the next thing 
I heard from Billy, as he made a rush in 
my direction. In his eagerness to catch 
me, he did not stop to see where he was 
going. His foot caught in a protruding 
root, and, with a splash, he went headlong 
into the brook, while, with a loud laugh, I 
flew among the branches of the willows. 
219 


POLLY 


The brook was not deep, and Billy 
scrambled out with no more harm done 
than a good drenching. This did not pre- 
vent him from wanting to catch me, and, 
as he danced around the trunk of the wil- 
low, I flew from my lofty perch, shrieking 
and laughing at him. 

“ My, Billy, but ain’t he a pretty bird! ” 
exclaimed the other boy. 

“ Pretty bird ! pretty bird ! ” I shrieked 
in the highest pitch of my voice. 

“I’m going home and get my butterfly 
net,” said Billy. The boys started on a run 
across the field, but stopped short to listen 
to me, as I began to sing one of the songs 
I had learned on board ship. In wide- 
eyed amazement the boys looked at me, 
then at each other, while I shouted glee- 

220 


POLLY 


fully. Then off the boys started again, 
while I flew in the direction of the hill. As 
I was not quite ready to go home, I decided 
to spend awhile in an apple orchard, which 
was at the foot of the hill. After amusing 
myself for awhile with the tiny green 
apples I heard a noise, and saw a crowd 
of more than twenty boys of all sizes armed 
with bean-poles, apple-pickers, butterfly 
nets, and all kinds of sticks making a bee 
line for the willows, where I was last seen. 
It was quite evident that this small army 
had come out bent on my capture. Under 
the circumstances, it would never do for 
me to remain where I was, for if I were 
attacked by this band of warriors, I would 
indeed be captured. A barn stood near the 
orchard. The door was open, and thither 
221 


POLLY 


I flew for shelter. By the time the boys 
reached the willows, I was peeking through 
a crack in the side of the barn. Not find- 
ing me among the willow-trees, I saw them 
come directly toward the apple orchard, 
which I had left such a short time before. 
My! Wasn’t I glad I had found a good 
hiding-place ! 


222 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XX. 

IN CAPTIVITY 

While I was congratulating myself on 
my fortunate escape and my security in the 
barn, I saw before me in a dark corner two 
great round eyes that resembled two balls 
of fire. I had heard Mistress talk about 
things shining like cat’s eyes in the dark, 
but never till that moment did I know what 
it meant. The worst of the situation was 
that these shining eyes were looking 
straight at me. Presently they began to 
draw nearer, and finally from out of the 
gloom appeared the form of a cat. He 
223 


POLLY 


made his way straight across the beam 
keeping both eyes on me and working his 
mouth significantly, probably in anticipa- 
tion of the good meal I would make him. 
As he was preparing to jump, I uttered 
one of my unearthly squawks, which so 
startled him that he fell from the beam and 
went sprawling to the floor below. It was 
a few minutes before he was able to slink 
away. It served him right that he was 
stunned by his fall, for he had no right to 
meddle with what did not belong to him. 

When Mr. Puss was disposed of I felt 
I could breathe freely once more. Perhaps 
I could find something to eat in the barn, 
for surely there must be some sort of feed 
where they kept hens. I crept from my 
corner and peeped over the beam. Sure 

224 


POLLY 


enough there was a quantity of cracked 
corn on the floor, and down I flew to help 
myself. I had hardly begun to enjoy my 
meal when I heard some one approaching 
the barn. “ Dear, dear,” I thought; “ shall 
I ever he allowed to eat a meal in peace? ” 
I flew back to the beam and was hidden in 
the dark corner under the eaves, when a 
boy appeared. I could see him climb the 
ladder and go over the haymow, where 
after a short search he found enough eggs 
to fill his hat. By this time I began to 
think home was the best place after all, and 
decided to go back as soon as the way was 
clear. But as the boy went out he fastened 
the barn door, and I was a prisoner for the 
day. 

I flew down to the barn floor once more, 

225 


POLLY 


ate a full meal of cracked corn and drank 
some water from the chickens’ drinking- 
dish. I returned to my hiding-place under 
the eaves and waited for the barn door to 
open again. 

By and by the cat came sneaking around 
again. I could not tell whether he was 
searching for me or for one of the chickens. 
I had enjoyed seeing him fall from the 
beam and wished he would do it again, but 
I rather think he had no idea of repeating 
the experience, as he crawled along with his 
body nearly touching the floor sniffing sus- 
piciously at everything and starting at any 
noise, however slight. When I said, 
“Scat!” you should have seen him jump 
and race out through the cat-hole. I 
hooted and shrieked after the old sinner so 


226 


POLLY 


loudly that I attracted attention from out- 
side. 

“ Pa, pa, there’s some one in the barn. 
I hear ’em talking.” 

“ Guess you’re mistaken, sonny,” came 
the answer. 

My mouth closed like a trap. I had no 
desire of being discovered. The barn door 
opened, and a man stuck his head in, say- 
ing: “Hello, there!” No answer. 

“ Hello ! ” shouted the boy. 

I had learned from past experience that 
there were times when silence was golden, 
and decided this was one. 

“Pshaw! sonny,” said the man. “I 
knowed there wa’n’t no one in that air 
barn. Yew just imagine yew heard some- 
body.” 

227 


POLLY 


But the boy addressed as “ sonny ” de- 
clared he knew better, and that he had 
heard somebody “ hollerin’.” The farmer 
went back to his wood-pile, and I hoped 
that I should have an opportunity to get 
away. But I had fun enough that evening 
to make up for my confinement. 

It was nearly sundown when a woman, 
probably the farmer’s wife, came to the 
barn to milk the cow which the boy had 
driven home from pasture a short time be- 
fore. When she began to milk I watched 
her for awhile, then knowing she could not 
see me, I ventured a “ Hello! ” She gave 
a sudden start and nearly upset the milk- 
pail, as she looked around everywhere for 
the owner of the voice. 

“ What was that? ” she asked, in a 

228 


POLLY 


frightened whisper. And I answered her 
with a “ Hoo-oo! Boo-hoo! Whoop-a-la! ” 

She sprang to her feet and fled from the 
barn. In a few minutes the farmer came 
in, muttering as he took a seat on the milk- 
ing-stool. “ Never seed anything like 
wimen folks. If ye pint yer finger at 
’em, they cry, and they’re skeered of their 
own shadder.” 

The woman had come back, and was 
timidly peering through the doorway. 
“ Did yew hear anything? ” she said to her 
husband. 

“ Hear anything? No, of course I 
didn’t, nor yew nuther,” answered the man. 

“ I don’t care whether yew believe it or 
not, I did hear something, an’ if it wa’n’t a 
human voice, I don’t know one when I 
229 


POLLY 


hear it.” With this the woman disap- 
peared, and her husband continued to mut- 
ter to himself. When he had finished milk- 
ing, he arose, stretched his knees, and be- 
gan to chuckle. “ What a notion fer the 
old woman to think she heared things! 
P’raps she’s just a-playin’ it on me, so’s I’d 
dew th’ milkin’. Well, old gal, if yew be 
a-playin’, I’ll — ” 

He never said what he would do, for at 
that moment I took a notion to let out one 
of those shrieks of mine, which sounds like 
nothing earthly. With a yell he dropped 
the pail of milk and went through the door 
like a shot from a cannon, and did not re- 
turn that night. 

The next morning I was up with the sun 
and had no trouble in getting away again. 

230 








POLLY 


I determined to pay one more visit to Har- 
rison Hill, and then I would go home. All 
day I fluttered about from tree to tree, en- 
joying myself as only a bird can when he 
has his freedom. 

I was much surprised as I came to the 
border of the woods toward sundown to 
find a lot of cracked corn lying on the 
ground. I ought to have known better, but 
instead of giving the matter any considera- 
tion, I immediately fluttered down to where 
the corn was so temptingly scattered over 
the ground. The next moment I found my 
claws were entangled in a lot of string, and 
a small boy sprang from behind a tree and 
before I had any idea of what he was about 
he had clapped the upper part of a rickety 
old cage over me, and I was a prisoner. 
231 


POLLY 


He then brought the bottom of the cage, 
and there was no hope of my escape. 

I was carried down over the hill to an 
old, dilapidated farmhouse, and there in 
the barn among a lot of common barn-yard 
fowls I was obliged to spend many weary 
days. In my anger at my young captor, I 
forgot about the lessons which the black 
cloth had taught me, and I am sure my 
language in those days was as bad as it 
ever had been in the forecastle. The boy, 
instead of being shocked or angry, was per- 
fectly delighted and did everything in his 
power by provoking me to make me con- 
tinue in the same strain. 

I had heard all sorts of tales regarding 
cruelty to animals, but I had never realized 
how much creatures might be made to 

232 


POLLY 


suffer through the sheer carelessness of 
their keepers, until I had this experience 
myself. If I were a human being, I would 
never sell a pet of any kind to a person un- 
less I was positive he would take good care 
of it. Neither tongue nor pen can describe 
what I suffered through that ignorant boy. 
Sometimes in the morning he would give 
me a handful of cracked corn, and if he 
happened to think of it, I might get an- 
other. If he did not come home early in 
the evening, I went without my supper, 
and perhaps once in three or four days, if 
the inclination seized him, I would have 
fresh water given me. Not once did he try 
to give me any variety in the little food I 
had. 

Ah, me! How different was the realiza- 

233 


POLLY 


tion of my adventure from what I thought 
it would be. Oh, if I only could get away 
and get home once more, what a happy 
bird I would be! I had been a prisoner at 
the farm about three weeks, when one day 
the boy’s mother came to the barn. Her 
personal appearance was slack and dirty, 
in perfect keeping with her surroundings. 
She looked pale, and was thin as if she had 
been ill, and her face plainly showed that 
long ago she had grown utterly hopeless 
and had given up trying. As she sat on 
the chopping-block she looked at me, and 
said: “Poor Polly. Have they brought 
you here, too, to discouragement and star- 
vation? ” 

“Hello, Polly. Pretty Polly!” I an- 
swered, for in spite of her unkempt appear- 

234 


POLLY 


ance and her careworn face there was some- 
thing about her which made me feel her 
sympathy for me. “ Pretty Polly, pretty 
Polly!” I said again. 

“Yes, I know,” she said, nodding her 
head toward me. “ That’s what they used 
to call me once. Pretty Polly Baker, folks 
used to say, but that was long, long 
ago.” 

“ Pretty Polly Baker,” I repeated in my 
most beseeching tone. “ Pretty Polly 
Baker! Polly wants to go home.” 

“ And so you shall, you dear bird. I 
don’t know as they need know who upset 
your cage. I guess it ain’t fastened very 
tight anyhow, and what folks don’t know 
will never trouble them.” She unfastened 
the bottom of my cage and turned over the 
235 


POLLY 


top, so I could get out. “ Now, Polly,” she 
said, “ fly away as fast as you can, and go 
straight home.” 

I paused on the window-sill long enough 
to see the kind-hearted woman place the 
upper part of the cage on one side and lay 
the bottom near it, saying as she did so, 
“ There, they can think just what they’ve 
a mind to. It will appear as though the cat 
had been around.” 

With a “ Good-bye, good-bye! pretty 
Polly, pretty Polly,” I flew toward Harri- 
son Hill. I made no stop there, but went 
from one tree to another, working my way 
around the hill down to the apple orchard, 
and then to the willows. Without losing 
a moment’s time I flew from there straight 
home to my own veranda. 


236 


POLLY 


The blinds were closed, and no signs 
of any one near. They had gone to the 
seashore, and I, Polly parrot, was left be- 
hind! 


237 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XXI. 

SUNDAY MORNING SERVICES 

When I realized that I was alone, that 
my people had gone away for the summer, 
and try as I might I never could find them, 
I was indeed a miserable bird. What I 
should do was a problem, and the more I 
tried to solve it, the more muddled I be- 
came. While I sat there in the corner be- 
tween two pillars of the veranda and in the 
shelter of the vines, I heard the church bells 
begin to ring. I was hungry, and felt I 
must have something to eat, though where 
was I to get it? If I had only known 

238 


POLLY 


enough to have flown to the neighbour’s 
window, I would have saved myself much 
trouble, and they would have taken me in 
gladly and taken care of me until Master 
came to take me home. But instead of do- 
ing the sensible thing, I went to the other 
extreme. I started down-town. 

I had an idea that if I went out into the 
world I would eventually find my people. 
Oh, how much I wanted them! And how 
little I now cared for adventure! Away I 
flew across the street to an orchard, then to 
another a little farther down, hoping 
against hope, as I worked my way along, 
that somewhere I should find Master and 
Mistress. 

I recalled that on the night of my arrival 
in Dingleberry Master had carried me to a 
239 


POLLY 


little shop around the corner from the 
station, where he stopped long enough to 
give some orders to his men. I determined 
to find the shop, and perhaps, in so doing, 
I should find my friends. I kept flying 
from one orchard to another, and when 
there were no more, I flew into the shade 
trees that grew on the side of the street. I 
knew I was on the right way, and I was 
getting along so bravely that my courage 
arose, and when I heard music coming from 
the open windows of a church, I decided to 
attend the service. I flew to one of the 
windows which was open, and listened to 
the singing. Such music I had not heard 
since I left the house of Arthur, and when 
it ceased, I shouted from my perch: 


240 


POLLY 


u Strike her up again, boys. That’s pretty 
good.” 

Instantly every face was turned in my 
direction, and a titter went through the 
church. And even the solemn-faced clergy- 
man looked up and a smile spread over his 
face. He coughed, blew his nose, and be- 
gan to talk. 

“ Strike her up again,” I insisted. “ Give 
us another tune.” 

The minister kept right on talking re- 
gardless of my presence or of my request 
for another song. 

“ Now, boys,” I said, looking down very 
solemnly from the window, “ give us an- 
other song. Captain Kidd or any old thing 
will do.” 

I found no one would sing, so I started 
241 


POLLY 


in by myself with one of My Jack’s orig- 
inal tunes. By the time I had finished 
nearly every one in the congregation was 
shaking with laughter. But why didn’t 
they applaud, if they were so well pleased? 
“ How is that? ” I asked, and getting no 
answer, cried again: “Bully for you, 
Polly! Bully for you! Give us an- 
other.” 

I would compel them to applaud me, and 
I started in singing again, this time my 
favourite, “ Captain Kidd.” Again I 
waited for my accustomed applause; even 
the minister was laughing and every one 
seemed amused, but not a hand-clap did I 
hear. It was just like a Dingleberry audi- 
ence anyway, — to take in the amusement, 


242 


POLLY 


and not exert themselves a particle to show 
their appreciation. I was disgusted, in- 
sulted, and outraged by such ingratitude. 
I would give them a piece of my mind, 
and none of the forecastle language would 
be a bit too strong. I started. A look of 
horror came over the faces of many, though, 
from their shaking, I could see some of 
the men were enjoying it. Whether they 
liked it or not, I would continue. The 
idea of insulting me as they had! I had 
hardly given them more than a specimen 
of my beloved forecastle when something 
struck me, and I went headlong to the seat 
below. I never knew what it was that hit 
me. It might have been a small boy from 
the street, or perhaps the minister had told 


243 


POLLY 


some one to do it. Anyway, I blessed the 
hand that fired the missile, for it was the 
means of restoring me once more to my 
dear master. 


244 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XXII. 

AN ENTERTAINMENT 

More than a year had passed since my 
holiday adventures, and I had never ceased 
being thankful for my safe return to my 
home and the affectionate care of those who 
loved me. I had had quite enough of ad- 
venture, and its spirit never once visited 
me since the unhappy days of that mis- 
erable time I was held a captive. My ex- 
periences, however, had not been without 
their advantages. While a prisoner in the 
barn I had learned to imitate the voices of 
all the barn-yard animals, from the tiniest 
245 


POLLY 


chick to the Shanghai rooster, and from 
the cow to the pig, besides the bark of a 
crazy little fox terrier. 

With such astonishing accomplishments, 
it is needless to say I could give an enter- 
tainment far out of the ordinary, and my 
dear people were so pleased and proud of 
me that they never tired of what they called 
my “ barn-yard exhibition.” Whenever 
they had company and wanted me to show 
off, they could always depend upon this 
winning the most applause. Once in a 
while, though, I chose to be contrary, and 
then no amount of coaxing could induce 
me to do as they wished. But it was sel- 
dom I was disobliging, for I dearly loved 
praise. I would begin my exhibition with 
crowing, as this was invariably the first 

246 


POLLY 


noise I had heard in the morning while at 
the farm. Next I would spread my wings 
and cluck, as I had seen the mother hens 
do when talking to their chickens, then I 
would mimic the hens’ “ Cut-cut-cut-ca-da- 
cut ” in tones of surprise mingled with fear, 
as I had observed when anything startled 
them in the barn-yard. Again I would 
cackle as they did after laying an egg, and 
when they wanted the whole world to know 
it. 

After I had finished the hen part of the 
entertainment, I followed it up quickly 
with imitations of the duck, goose, and 
turkey, finishing with the lowing of the 
cow, the bleating of a sheep, and the grunt- 
ing and squealing of a pig. It was in- 
tensely gratifying to me that every one 
247 


POLLY 


appreciated my efforts, and even Yoppy 
was both surprised and delighted at my 
mimicry. I always enjoyed best giving 
my performances on the front piazza, where 
a crowd would always soon gather when I 
began. 

One day Yoppy and I were entertaining 
some visitors, — at least, I was doing the 
entertaining, while Yoppy simply showed 
off and acted silly. I had never given 
Yoppy credit for much intelligence, al- 
though Master and Mistress always con- 
sidered him a marvel. But I must confess 
that he really surprised me before the day 
was over. 

He had been making a little fool of him- 
self, trying to clean his teeth with an old 
tooth-brush. But from the way our visitors 

248 


POLLY 


laughed, one would have thought him very 
funny. Sitting beside his cage with some 
sea-sand in his hand, he would dip the 
brush into the sand and then would rub the 
stuff on his teeth, making up all sorts of 
grimaces because the sand was so gritty. 
He didn’t enjoy it in the least, but as long 
as the people laughed, he was willing to 
torture himself for the sake of appearing 
funny. As for me, I was singing. I never 
acted silly. I was walking back and forth 
on a shelf that Master had arranged for 
us on the piazza, and it seemed that when 
I could swagger up and down the shelf, 
I could give more force to those dear songs 
of mine. In the old days on board ship 
none of the sailors ever kept still while they 
were singing. Well, of course, it is need- 
249 


POLLY 


less to say, my part of the entertainment 
was far superior to Yoppy’s. 

While he sat there grinning at the crowd 
and making a goose of himself, there came 
the sound of a hand-organ. In an instant 
Yoppy was on his feet, and, with a cry 
of fear, dashed into his cage. He was evi- 
dently as much afraid of hand-organs as 
he was of bees. 

When the organ-grinder reached our 
house, we had a good chance to see the 
homely little monkey he carried with him. 
He was indeed stupid, and did not know 
enough to even give the pennies to his mas- 
ter, but would always try to swallow them. 
Mistress brought the little fellow a drink 
of milk, and giving the organ-grinder a 
few pennies, took the monkey in her lap. 

250 


POLLY 


It was strange to see how quickly he cud- 
dled down, and soon he was fast asleep. 

Yoppy was intensely jealous of him and 
acted as if he wanted to claw him, and 
when Mistress reproved him he began to 
chew at his chain and fuss more than ever. 
Meanwhile the Italian had been grinding 
out tune after tune, to which no one paid 
much attention until he began to play a 
sailor’s hornpipe. Many times I had seen 
my dear Jack dance to the tune, as Mickey 
Dolan played it on his jew’s-harp. Yoppy 
sprang to his feet, and, uttering a little cry, 
the sort he always gave when recogniz- 
ing an old acquaintance, started in to 
dance. Yes, dance, and in perfect time 
with the music, and more than that, he 
was acting the jolly Jack tar to per- 
251 


POLLY 


fection. Each motion he gave in perfect 
time and in its proper place, hauling the 
rope, heel and toe, and all the other steps, 
just as My Jack used to dance it on board 
ship. When the music ceased, there came 
from the spectators such a shout of ap- 
plause for Yoppy’s performance that, were 
I not already green by nature, I am sure 
I should have become so from sheer envy. 
Such applause, and not for me! It was 
really more than my nature could endure. 

The music started again. And this time 
the organ-grinder played “ The Irish 
Washerwoman.” Ah, how well I remem- 
bered that tune, and how often had I seen 
Mickey Dolan and the other sailors “ break 
it down.” “ So-ho,” thought I, “ if Yoppy 
can win applause by dancing a hornpipe, 

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POLLY 


surely I can win similar distinction with a 
“ breakdown.” 

I began to dance, but, dear me, the stu- 
pidity of those spectators! I was even 
obliged to squawk in order to let them know 
I was doing something smart, and even 
then they were incapable of appreciating 
my efforts. The stately minuet would per- 
haps have been much more in keeping with 
my character, but how could one dance the 
minuet to the tune of “ The Irish Washer- 
woman,” and very bad music at that? I 
did my best with my limited resources, but 
instead of receiving applause for my ef- 
forts, I was simply laughed at. 

“ The parrot is trying to imitate the 
monkey,” some one said, and it was then all 
eyes turned on me. Even Master and Mis- 
253 


POLLY 


tress did not appreciate my attempt at 
dancing, for they laughed as loudly as the 
strangers who had gathered around the 
piazza. 

When the organ-grinder and his monkey 
and the crowd had gone away, Mistress 
added the last drop of bitterness to my 
already overflowing cup. “ My dear,” she 
said, turning to Master, “ did you ever see 
the ways of some people more clearly illus- 
trated? ” 

“What do you mean, mamma?” asked 
little Missey. 

“ J ust this, dear,” answered Mistress. 
“ The monkey dances because he loves it 
and because it is almost second nature to 
him. He does it without a thought of 
applause, and covers himself with unex- 

254 


POLLY 


pected glory. The parrot, who knows noth- 
ing of dancing, and could never dance even 
if she did, hears the applause given the 
monkey, stops doing what she is able to 
do, and tries to win similar applause by 
imitating the monkey. Can you tell me, 
dear, what the parrot does by trying to win 
praise in doing what she does not naturally 
come by? ” 

“ Makes a fool of herself,” answered lit- 
tle Missey, promptly. 

“ Exactly, my dear,” answered Mistress. 
And you may well imagine my feelings. 

Never again did I try to distinguish my- 
self by dancing. Say what they would, I 
have always felt it was through no fault 
of mine that I did not make an impression 
that day. The music, I know, was some- 
255 


POLLY 


what to blame. The platform was not what 
it should have been, nor was the company 
fully appreciative. Master and Mistress, 
at least, might have recognized a superior 
work of art, but even they seemed utterly 
incapable. 

There is one word more I want to say. 
I want every one to distinctly understand 
that I have never been guilty of trying to 
imitate a monkey, no matter what Mistress 
says. 


256 


POLLY 


CHAPTER XXIII, 

A PROMISE 

It was spring again, and I was the most 
unhappy of all creatures. During the win- 
ter a most extraordinary thing had hap- 
pened. A little squawling baby boy made 
his appearance at the house. I did not 
see him for quite awhile, but Freddie told 
me all about it. He said Mistress had 
shown him his “ little master,” and that 
Master and Mistress were as proud as pea- 
cocks of their little son. 

When Mistress came at last to visit the 
pets’ corner, all might have been well had 
257 


POLLY 


she not had in her arms that “ precious 
sonny ” whom the entire household had 
raved about. From that day I was mad 
with jealous rage. I began to squawk and 
screech at the top of my voice. I bit holes 
in my seed-cup, slopped the water from my 
water-cup, and upset both whenever I had 
a chance. When I realized that Mistress 
would still keep the baby in spite of my 
actions, I studied up my forecastle vocab- 
ulary again, and did my best to become a 
nuisance to them all. In vain did Mistress 
and Maggie apply the black cloth. In vain 
did Master try to coax me into submission. 
The more they laboured with me, the more 
reckless I became, and Mistress declared 
it was utterly impossible for her boy to 


258 


POLLY 


sleep with my everlasting squawking con- 
tinuing uninterruptedly. 

In utter desperation poor Master tried 
to overcome the evil by taking my cage to 
the nursery, saying: “I am going to try 
an experiment. I think if Polly is where 
she can see you, she won’t make such a nui- 
sance of herself.” 

“ I am afraid it will be useless,” said 
Mistress. “ She is jealous of the baby, and 
nothing, I fear, will appease her. I have 
known of another instance where a parrot 
was so jealous of a baby that the master 
was obliged to dispose of it.” 

“ The parrot or the baby? ” said Mas- 
ter, laughingly. 

But in spite of his laughter, I saw that 
he looked troubled as he left the nursery. 
259 


POLLY 


At first I was much pleased with my pro- 
motion. And it was indeed pleasant to be 
near Mistress and have her talk to me. If 
the baby only had kept on sleeping! But 
he awoke and cried, and I found I was of 
no consequence whatever, as Mistress left 
my side and went to the crib. In my rage 
I started a racket worse than ever, and, 
if I could have broken through the bars of 
my cage, I would have pecked out the eyes 
of that detestable child. Again I was ban- 
ished to the kitchen. 

It was Saturday morning, and little 
Missey was having a holiday. She brought 
her dolls and sat beside my cage, and then 
opened the cage and let me come out to 
roost on a broom-handle she had arranged 
across two chairs. We were having a most 

260 


POLLY 


delightful time when I saw Missey ’s little 
friend Mary come up the back porch. I 
knew her coming meant an interruption. 
I had had little enough attention paid to 
me lately, and I wanted little Missey all 
to myself. I decided to show Mary that 
I disliked her intrusion, and when she 
opened the kitchen door I was ready for 
her. Without a sign of warning, I flew 
directly into her face and sank my beak 
in her cheek. Immediately there was an 
uproar. Mary screamed with pain; little 
Missey with fright, while I shrieked from 
pure fury. How dared she interrupt our 
play! I was about to inflict another wound 
when Maggie rushed in, seized the broom, 
and knocked me to the floor. 


261 


POLLY 


My reign at the house of Herbert was 
about over. I had been tried and found 
guilty. I was pronounced a vicious crea- 
ture and unsafe to be among children. 
Once more I was to suffer the pangs of 
parting, and endure all over again the un- 
pleasantness of getting acquainted with a 
new master. 

It was June, and a scorching hot day. 
Master and Mistress, with the other mem- 
bers of the family, were to leave in a few 
days for the seashore, and I was to be 
taken to my new home. In the evening 
several friends called on Mistress to bid 
her farewell for the summer. Nana was 
in the nursery with the children, and Mis- 
tress was in the parlour with her guests. 
Maggie had been ironing all the afternoon, 

262 


POLLY 


and there was still a hot fire in the kitchen. 
In her rush to go out, Maggie had hur- 
riedly wiped off some grease on the stove 
with a piece of paper, thrown it into the 
wood-box, closed the cover, and left the 
kitchen, shutting the door behind her. 

In a few minutes, looking in the direc- 
tion of the wood-box, I saw smoke coming 
from under the cover. For awhile I 
watched it without realizing what it meant, 
and then I remembered the smoke that 
came from the hatchway on board the Will- 
iam W. Crapo. Something ought to be 
done, that I knew, but what? The smoke 
grew thicker every minute; still no one 
came. Freddie, too, knew that something 
was wrong, and, going to the door, he 
barked loudly and scratched frantically at 
263 


POLLY 


the screen-door. The smoke reached our cor- 
ner, and Yoppy began to yell between his 
coughs. The box burst into a blaze, crack- 
ing and snapping as the flames rose. The 
fire spread to the shelf near by, entered the 
slide in the china closet, and caught the 
framework of hard pine. 

What was I thinking of, staring at the 
flames without opening my mouth? Oh, 
how could I stop it? How could I call 
Mistress? 

What was it they had shouted that night 
on the Crapo? What was it? I had it! 
I had it! And at the highest pitch of my 
voice I shrieked: ‘‘Fire! Fire! Fire!” I 
was nearly smothered, but I cried again: 
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” Would no one ever 
come? The china closet was all in flames, 

264 


POLLY 


and soon the fire would reach the nursery. 
Oh, would no one ever come? 

I felt I must make one more desperate 
effort. I must bring some one, and, again 
drawing a long breath, I screamed : “ Fire ! 
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!” 

There was a patter of feet in the sitting- 
room. At last Mistress had heard my cries. 
I was still crying, “ Fire ! ” when the door 
burst open. The smoke was too dense to 
see, but I heard her voice. A shriek rang 
through the room, and the next moment I 
could hear a dozen voices, while above all 
I could hear Mistress giving orders for one 
to look out for the children, another to take 
Yoppy, some one to take care of me, and 
some one else to open the door, so the dog 
and cats could get out. Then she sent 
265 


POLLY 


somebody to ring in the fire alarm, and 
she went for the garden hose. At this 
point I was overcome by the smoke, and 
knew no more until I was revived in the 
open air. When I regained consciousness 
there were firemen all around in the yard, 
but there was little for them to do, as Mis- 
tress had put out most of the fire herself. 

Ringing the fire alarm had brought Mas- 
ter home in a hurry. Every one was prais- 
ing Mistress for her presence of mind. 

“ Polly is the one to be praised,” I heard 
her say. “ It was she who gave the alarm.” 

I was taken into the sitting-room, where 
every one talked at once, and no one could 
catch half of what his neighbour said. 

Much to my astonishment I found I was 
the heroine of the hour. Every one petted 

266 


POLLY 


and praised me, and showered me with lav- 
ish compliments. But not until the excite- 
ment was all over did I know or realize the 
importance of what I had done. 

It was a happy moment when I was 
taken from my cage, and was held up by 
Master where all might see me. There was 
a ring of triumph in his voice as he turned 
to Mistress and said : “ I guess Polly’s 

earned the right to stay with us awhile 
longer, hasn’t she? We won’t part with 
her now, will we?” 

Mistress came forward and took me from 
Master, and said: “Polly Parrot, for your 
reward, whatever you may do or say in the 
future, you shall never, never be banished 
from us. Your home shall be with us for 
ever and ever.” 

267 


POLLY 


In the presence of all I solemnly re- 
peated that promise, which satisfied all my 
longings and filled my heart with glee: 

“ For ever and ever! For ever and 
ever! ” 


THE END. 


268 















LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




